Entangled
by Metal-Potato-Alex
Summary: Sequel to Entwined. Her Fourth Year over, Hermione Granger must come to terms with being apart from the one she loves. But as the days grow darker, Fleur Delacour still offers an island of tranquillity in a rapidly changing world. Hermione/Fleur femslash.
1. The Return

**Harry Potter and all related characters and places are owned by JK Rowling - I just make them dance for my own amusement.**

**Well, here we are! Sorry it's a day late - I had an art commission that I had to pull an all-nighter to complete due to computer problems, and had no time to finish this chapter. Still, it's here now, and we can get the ball rolling on this here sequel. I hope everyone's made the jump from Entwined, and I hope you all enjoy the next part in my Fleurmione saga.**

**Oh, one last thing, for those that read my note at the end of the last fic - someone mentioned the fics being a trilogy. Yeah...with the amount of post-DH fic ideas I have, you're looking at a lot more stories than that...  
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**~xxx~**

Hermione Granger took a deep breath as she stepped down from the Hogwarts Express onto Platform 9 ¾. The air was thick with steam, billowing from the scarlet steam engine. Filling her ears as much as the steam filled her vision, the chatter of her fellow students populated the air, only growing louder as more and more left the carriages. It was always on odd experience standing on the platform; both literally and figuratively a final barrier between the wizarding and muggle worlds. It looked almost like an ordinary station platform; save for the flyers adorning the walls advertising a new type of Bertie Bott's Bean that changed flavour as you chewed it, and another advertising the Weird Sisters' new album. The latter gained a small smile from Hermione; she had seen them perform live, though her attention had of course been on something – someone – else.

Lost in thought for a moment, she was brought back to reality when a rather excited First Year rushed past her, knocking into her schoolbag. Shaking her head with a small smile, she picked up the cage containing Crookshanks – who was looking even more grumpy than usual – and set about finding a trolley for her trunk. As she did so, Harry and Ron emerged from the train behind her. After the long journey, Harry looked a lot more at ease than he had done when it began; his face had more colour to it, at least. Ron looked his usual self, having spent most of the trip back to London stuffing his face with the mountain of sweets he and Harry had purchased from the food trolley.

Soon, the three of them were pushing their fully-laden trolleys across the crowded station and towards the barrier. Ron and Harry seemed to be placing bets on how much larger the bespectacled boy's cousin, Dudley, would be, but at this point Hermione remembered something. She paused for a moment, reaching into her bag. Harry and Ron stopped and looked over at her.

"I'll just be a minute," she said, still rummaging. "Our little friend needs letting out." As she said this, she withdrew a small glass jar. Inside, the beetle was still sat upon a leaf. It seemed to be glaring up at Hermione. The brunette simply smiled pleasantly, and took the jar to one side, while Harry and Ron looked after her trolley. She paused beside an empty bench, and – making sure no one was looking – unscrewed the lid of the jar, turning it upside down and dropping the beetle onto the arm of the seat. She leant down, eyeing the insect carefully.

"One year, you hear me?" she said, her tone almost dangerous. "And if you print so much as one snide word, I'll know about it."

Had Rita Skeeter been in her human form, she would most likely have attacked the younger witch. As it was, all she could do was look up at her for a moment, before scurrying off, unable to transform back in such a busy area. Satisfied, Hermione screwed the lid back onto the jar, and returned to her trolley.

"You sure it's a good idea just letting her go like that?" Ron asked. "What makes you think she'll do as you say?"

"Oh she'll do as she's told," Hermione answered, doing her bag back up and slinging it over her shoulder. "Otherwise she won't be slandering _anyone_ ever again in the papers."

It was always an odd experience walking through the magical barrier to the rest of King's Cross, especially emerging back into the muggle world. When they emerged, they were instantly greeted with the sight of Mrs Weasley. Ginny was already waiting with her, and Hermione could only assume that Fred and George were not far behind them. To one side, she saw Harry's uncle standing rather stiffly, frowning at the solid wall from which they had emerged. She felt a pang of guilt, knowing that just outside the station, her parents were waiting for her, while Harry had to leave with a man that didn't even greet him. Luckily, Mrs Weasley was on hand. She pulled Harry into a hug, and whispered something in his ear. As quickly as she had moved forward, she pulled away, and said her goodbyes. Before too much longer, Fred and George emerged from the barrier. They both shook Harry's hand firmly, thanked him again for the gold, and followed their mother towards the exit.

"See you, Harry!" Ron called. Harry nodded, before turning to Hermione. She smiled, and pulled him into a tight hug.

"You take care, Harry," she said. "Try not to get into too much trouble before next term."

"'Too much'?" the boy repeated, grinning. "How much am I allowed?" The bushy-haired girl laughed and shook her head. "Say hi to Fleur for me."

"I will," she replied, biting her bottom lip as her cheeks coloured.

As she pushed her trolley in the opposite direction to her friend, she had to wonder why he was so cheerful. It was sad, but perhaps he was simply enjoying the last fleeting moments before his inevitably intolerable Summer began. Hermione stepped out into the car park, momentarily dazzled by the afternoon sun. Before too much longer, she spotted a familiar car, and put on a little burst of speed. Her parents were standing beside it, and held out their arms for her as she approached. She left the trolley and embraced both her parents tightly. For a moment, she was suddenly aware of everything that had transpired at the end of the previous term, but forced the thoughts from her mind and focussed entirely on the two people hugging her.

Her father stepped back first, and smiled down at her. "Good year?" he asked.

"Yes," Hermione answered before she could even begin to decide how much to tell them. Apparently her subconscious had decided on divulging absolutely nothing. "Yes, it was great."

"I'm sure you've grown since you left," Mrs Granger said. Hermione just smiled; at least one of her parents said that every year. "And you need a haircut."

"_I could run my 'ands zrough zat 'air all day…"_

"Actually, I prefer it like this," the brunette began, hoping her cheeks hadn't gone red again. "…people say it suits me better." She was thankful that her parents hadn't caught her momentary lapse in attention; the memory of those slender fingers delicately running through her messy hair was a rather distracting one.

"And how's Crookshanks?" her father asked, bending down to look at the cat, who seemed to be enjoying his cage even less than he had been a few minutes ago.

"Oh he's fine," Hermione replied. "Still struts around the castle as though he owns the place."

"He's a cat, dear," her mother said, smiling. "That's what they do."

"Well then, shall we get going?" Mr Granger said. Hermione turned to her trunk, but her father stepped forwards. "Oh don't worry about it, I'll sort it. You get yourself in the car."

She nodded gratefully, picked her cat's cage up, and settled in the back seat of the car.

**~xxx~**

The drive home was always a relatively quiet one; mainly because her parents knew there was far too much for their daughter to tell in the space of one car journey. They always waited until dinner for her to recount the year's events, and usually stayed up until the early hours. After making sure Crookshanks was (relatively) happy, Hermione looked out of the window, lost in memory. Just how could she tell her parents about Voldemort's return? They were both rather protective of her, and while they were proud of her success at school, and understood that Hogwarts was the safest place for her, she had a feeling they would think twice about allowing her to return if they knew the truth. Besides, how could she even begin to explain her relationship with Fleur to them, as well as asking to visit her in France, while they were still absorbing the news of the Dark Lord's return?

She let out a quiet sigh and leant her head against the glass, watching the cold concrete buildings fly past. Seeing the muggle world again was always strange; it was familiar, of course – nothing amazing, and yet she was always away from it _just _long enough that some things seemed strange to her. It was always interesting to see how things had changed after the best part of a year away; what did the newest cars look like, what did the music sound like, what fashions were prevalent; it was all fascinating to her, despite having grown up in a muggle home. These conflicting feelings of familiarity and intrigue were all familiar to her, but this year something was very different. As her thoughts wandered further, her mind's eye was filled with the image of silvery-blonde hair, dancing in the wind as the sunlight glinted off it.

She could almost see Fleur's smile when she closed her eyes; that toothy grin that always betrayed the French witch's mischievous side, the way she would tilt her head to the side while talking, and best of all, her _voice_. Hermione had never made much of a fuss about her girlfriend's accent during their time together, apart from the one conversation the previous day. That part was the hardest of all to swallow – it had only been _yesterday_. She had said goodbye to Fleur only _that morning_. And yet it felt as though it had happened in a different time, completely separate from the place she was now. Driving those disheartening thoughts from her mind, she returned to her previous train of thought; that heavenly voice Fleur possessed; the way Hermione's name rolled off of that delicate tongue.

"'_Ermione…"_

She smiled, completely wrapped up in her fantasies. Warm arms were enveloping her, holding her close. Her vision was filled with golden hair.

"'_Ermione, j'adore…"_

Full lips were moving against her own, deftly seeking entrance. She had never been kissed like this before; never been kissed at all, for that matter. Those hands were tangling through her hair again.

"Hermione?"

She tried to sit bolt upright, jerking backwards as her seatbelt locked and stopped her. She looked to the side; her father was leaning in through the open door. Behind him, she could see her house. By this point, the sun was beginning to dip behind the houses. "Oh, sorry Dad," she mumbled, going rather red. "I must have dozed off…"

"No need to apologise," he said, smiling and standing back to full height. "But something tells me you wouldn't say no to a nice big dinner, hm?"

Hermione smiled and shook her head. She climbed out of the car, bringing Crookshanks with her, and stretched, feeling her spine click rather horribly as she did so. The Grangers' house hadn't changed at all since she had last seen it; save for the fact that her parents had finally followed her advice and removed the weeds that had begun sprouting at the edge of the driveway. As she entered the warmth of her house, she was struck by just how unchanged everything was. Then again, this was always the case – she arrived home expecting everything too look different, and without fail, it was as though she had been gone a week at most. Still, she found it was far from an unwelcome thing; she could at least pretend that she hadn't missed much. She could hear her mother in the kitchen already preparing dinner; Hermione had to wonder whether she had even taken her shoes off before starting on the food. The brunette's trunk had already been carried into the house, and was waiting for her in her bedroom when she climbed the stairs to it.

Like the rest of the house, Hermione's room was eerily similar to it's appearance on the day she had left for Hogwarts, though at least here it was understandable. She glanced around; everything was still where she had left it. Then again, there wasn't much to begin with. There was her noticeboard; one side was empty – her homework planner had resided there before term – and the other side was filled with photographs; some moving, some not. Of course, by now the photos were out of date; she could see her Third Year self smiling back. How things had changed since then.

She had only gathered a few photographs of Fleur; all of which she hadn't even been aware of the existence of before the train ride back to London. Colin Creevey had visited their compartment, and had given Hermione a bundle of pictures. He explained that while he had been testing his new magical camera over the year, he had ended up with a few pictures of Hermione and Fleur together. Had they been muggle photographs, they would have been useless; however, as she pulled them out of her back pocket, she saw her photographic self move to the foreground, smiling up at her, before turning back to the girl beside her.

Just seeing Fleur's face again – even in a photograph – was enough to make Hermione smile. She watched as the photographic Fleur placed a quick kiss upon the cheek of the photo's other occupant. Pulling her eyes away, she flicked through them; she and Fleur at the Yule Ball together, their eyes focussed entirely on each other as they twirled around; Fleur alone by the side of the lake, looking absolutely freezing and worried – understandable, given that Hermione herself was, at that time, at the bottom of the lake; a few more candid pictures; and then to the final shot. That last picture was almost hypnotic to watch, in a bizarre way. It had been taken only that morning, just before Fleur had left. They had been so busy with each other, Hermione hadn't even noticed the flash going off; but there they were, arms around each other's waists, quite happily kissing each other without a care in the world. That photograph was most definitely _not_ going on the noticeboard. As for the others, she was going to have to wait to see her parents' reaction first, before she started 'showing off' her girlfriend.

She flopped back onto the bed, closing her eyes again. Subconsciously, she reached up and placed a hand upon her collarbone; the pendant worn beneath her clothing was an ever-present reminder of the beautiful girl that had won her heart. As she waited to be called down to dinner, her mind began to wander; just what was Fleur doing at that moment? Filling her mind with thoughts of the blonde part-Veela, she whiled away her time, as content as she could be, without Fleur at her side.

**~xxx~**

The Seventh Years' dormitory at Beauxbatons Academy was usually alive with activity, especially at this time of night. Having no house system, and only female students, many more were required to share the living quarters, and as such, the room was a lot larger than anything at Hogwarts. And of course, being Beauxbatons, it was far grander. And yet, tonight it sat empty; cold and dark, save for one person. Fleur Delacour sat upon her bed, gazing out of the window into the night sky. She was still wearing her uniform; imaculate as ever, save for her hair, which had been freed from it's ponytail and was now hanging loosely, mostly hiding her face from view. The other Seventh Year girls were all gone; their exams completed. Even those that had accompanied her to Britain had finished their examinations while at Hogwarts, having nothing else to do other than cheer the Beauxbatons Champion on.

So that left Fleur, completely alone. She had been allowed two weeks to prepare for her exams; a small concession, given that she had spent her entire final year on the Triwizard Tournament. Nevertheless, she was Beauxbatons' star student – she had to pass these exams. And besides, at the end of them, when she was able to return home to her parents and sister, she would be free to play host to the most important person in her life.

"'Ermione…" she murmured, sighing to herself. "Tu me manqués…"

_I miss you._


	2. Acceptance

**Harry Potter and all related characters and places are owned by JK Rowling - I just make them dance for my own amusement.**

**Interesting fact: this is the longest chapter I have ever written that doesn't include a scene change. Yeah. Interesting. Mmmm. ...why are you still reading this? There's a fic down there, you know!  
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**~xxx~**

"Crookshanks, get down!" Mrs Granger snapped, attempting to lift the large cat up. He had jumped onto the dinner table, and was proving difficult to remove. Hermione had to stifle her laugh, watching with amusement as her mother tried in vain to remove the animal's claws from the table cloth. Hermione had been home for about an hour now, and the Granger family had just sat down to dinner. She hadn't noticed it much on the journey home, but she was starving; having eaten nothing on the train.

"He just wants letting out," Hermione's father said; he looked as though he was trying not to laugh as well.

"Well he can't," his wife replied, finally removing the cat and placing him upon the floor again, where he scampered under the table. "He has to stay in the house for a week so he gets used to it again,_ don't you?" _She gave the cat a pretend glare.

Hermione just continued to smile, simply enjoying the normality of the situation. She always worried that it would be awkward adjusting back to muggle life, no matter how briefly, but her parents always made it so easy. Like the house itself, they behaved as though she had barely been gone. Of course, now was the moment Hermione had been both looking forward to, and dreading. After debating with herself, she had decided not to mention anything related to Cedric Diggory's death, or Lord Voldemort's return. Her parents had a right to know, of course, but all the information would do is cause them worry; worry over something they couldn't do anything about. As it was, there was nothing anyone could do at the moment. Voldemort had intended to kill Harry that night, without revealing his return; it was quite clear he was in no position to act just yet. At least, that was how Hermione justified it to herself.

"So, how are Harry and Ron?" her mother asked brightly, starting on her own food.

"Both fine," Hermione replied. "It was an…interesting yeah for the three of us."

"Oh?" Mrs Granger sounded curious. "How so?"

"Well, it's quite a long story," Hermione began. "There's this competition – the Triwizard Tournament. Basically, three wizarding schools compete against each other in three tasks, each one represented by a single contestant."

"We had something a bit like that back when I was at school," Mr Granger added. "But how come there's only one person competing for each school?"

"Well…" his daughter continued. "It may be because the tasks they had to complete were a bit…dangerous."

"How dangerous?" Hermione's mother asked, and Hermione gave an uneasy smile.

"Dangerous as in…dragons," she replied.

"Ah," her father said, pausing with his fork in the air. "Well…makes a change from rugby and football, I suppose."

"Sorry, dragons? Real dragons?" her mother asked, sounding rather dumbstruck.

"I did tell you they existed," Hermione replied, almost nonchalantly. She had to admit, a small part of her did enjoy being so blasé about magic when talking to her parents, despite the fact that she disliked alienating them with it.

"I know, it's just…" Mrs Granger shook her head. "Never mind, carry on."

"Well, somehow-" She most certainly wasn't going to mention Barty Crouch Jr. "-Harry's name got into the Goblet of Fire – that's what students who wanted to compete put their names in to be considered – and he ended up being chosen."

"Isn't he a bit young to be representing the whole school?" Hermione's mother said, concern filling her voice. Then she paused. "What am I saying? Isn't he too young to be facing dragons?"

"Just one dragon," Hermione said, holding up a single finger and smiling uneasily. "But you're right, I think it was a bit worrying that they allowed him to – the thing is, if your name comes out of the Goblet, it's a legally binding contract – but in the end, he did alright." She paused for a moment. "Well…actually, he won."

"Well," Mr Granger began, sounding impressed. "Next time you see him, tell him well done from us."

"I will," Hermione replied, tucking back into her food, which was already in danger of becoming cold.

"You mentioned other wizarding schools," her father continued. "Just how many are there? I thought Hogwarts was the only one in the UK?"

"It is," Hermione answered, swallowing quickly. "The other two were from other countries; one from France, and the other was from…" She paused again. "I _think_ Durmstrang is based in Norway, but they take students from other countries; one of their students is even on the Bulgarian Quidditch team."

Mr Granger nodded. "So how many schools are there in total?" he asked. "Around the world, I mean."

"Quite a few," the brunette replied. "Most of them are in and around Europe: that's where most of the old wizarding families were."

"Makes you think, doesn't it?" Mrs Granger said. "Just how many people do we pass on the streets that are actually witches and wizards." Hermione nodded, and continued eating. "So," her mother continued. "This tournament didn't interfere with your exams, I hope?"

"Oh, no not at all," Hermione replied. "No, they were absolutely fine. I'm sure I got a year wrong in my Ancient Runes essay, but there's nothing I can do about that now."

"Well I'm glad to hear you aren't panicking over it," Mr Granger said. "Last year you were getting all hot and bothered because you thought you'd spelt something wrong."

"Oh…" Hermione gave a slightly embarrassed laugh. "I suppose I did…"

They talked for the rest of dinner, mainly discussing the Tournament, and other school-related matters. Hermione left out all mention of Fleur – simply referring to her as 'the Beauxbatons Champion'; it would be easier to tell her parents about her afterwards, rather than having to constantly side-track. She knew they would have wanted to know about the part-Veela first, but the brunette had to admit that part of her was still worried about their reaction. And as such, she had wanted to enjoy at least some normal conversation with her parents, before she dropped this bombshell at their feet. Of course, it was all over too soon, and all three of them had finished.

"Well," her mother said, smiling. "I'm glad you had such a good year."

"I wish we had interesting things to tell you," her father added. "But it's been pretty ordinary here. The Wilkinsons from next door moved out, and we had to fix the starter motor in the car, but that's really about it."

"And your father got that new chair he wanted in the surgery," Mrs Granger added, turning to her husband. "The one with the built-in mouth-wash dispenser."

"Oh, that's right!" he said excitedly. "It's got all of these little-"

"There's something else," Hermione blurted out, before even realising she was going to do it. Her mother paused, halfway through getting up.

"Oh?" she smiled pleasantly. Her daughter shifted uncomfortably, not meeting either of her parents' eyes. Upon seeing this, her mother's smile faded somewhat. "Hermione, what's wrong?"

"It's…" the young witch began, biting her bottom lip. "It's difficult to know where to begin." She looked back up her parents. "Can we do this in the living room? I think I need a moment…"

"Alright…" her mother replied with a nod, looking increasingly concerned. "Hermione, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, mum," she said. "I just need a second to think." That was the understatement of the century. She cursed her mouth, which seemed to have become disconnected from her brain. She hadn't meant to blurt it out so suddenly; what did she do now? Lie and tell them something else? Breaking out in a cold sweat, she got to her feet and carried her plate into the kitchen, scraping the remains of her meal into the bin before putting it to one side. She headed through into the other room, her mother following closely.

"Dear, do you want me to do this by hand or just stick it in the dishwasher?" Mr Granger's voice came from the kitchen. His wife continued to look at Hermione, before glancing over her shoulder.

"Oh, yes, just shove it all in," she said in an off-handed tone, before turning back to her daughter. "Hermione, what's wrong? You were fine a moment ago."

"I…" the brunette tried, but she couldn't get the words out. She stepped further into the living room, forcing herself to be distracted by the photographs that lined the mantelpiece. "I need Dad in here too…"

"Okay…" Now her mother sounded really worried. As she went to fetch Hermione's father, the young witch couldn't help but regret her decision to wait until now for this. Her parents must have been startled by her sudden change in demeanour; she could hear them talking in hushed whispers back in the kitchen. Moments later, they both entered the room, now looking equally concerned. "Sit down, dear," her mother said, but Hermione shook her head.

"I'll stand, if that's okay," the brunette said. "I think it'll be easier this way."

"Hermione, what on earth is wrong?" Mr Granger asked as he and his wife settled on the sofa.

"Nothing's wrong…" she replied quietly. Not yet, she told herself. "It's…a long story." Despite her parents being the only other company, Hermione felt as though she were on stage; standing there as the focus of attention. There was no chance of backing down now; no way out of this. It was time to tell them. "Mum, Dad…for the past year, I've…I've been seeing someone…"

"Alright," her mother said slowly, nodding.

"Do you remember when we were in France? After my Second Year?" Hermione continued. "And I stayed at the hotel most days to study? Well…that day you went to the car museum, I realised I had nothing to write with…" She gave a hollow laugh. "Such a silly thing, really… So I went down into the town – I know you told me not to go out alone, but it was the middle of the day and…I'm sorry…"

"It's okay," Mrs Granger said. "Go on."

"Well, I found what I was looking for, and…" Despite the fear of her parents' reaction, she couldn't refrain from smiling. "…I met someone…"

"Wait, you said the past year – that holiday was two years ago," her father pointed out. She nodded, and took a deep breath.

"I thought we had parted ways for good when we left France," the brunette went on. "We spent a few days together. Just as friends, mind you; nothing at all happened between us back then-"

"I should hope not," Mrs Granger said sharply. "You were only thirteen."

"I know," Hermione replied, slightly stung by her mother's tone. "That's why nothing happened. I wasn't about to get myself into a situation that I was too young to comprehend." She sighed. "You have to understand; I wasn't naïve to the dangers, even back then. If it had been anyone else, I wouldn't have even given the time of day."

"Sounds like quite the someone," Mr Granger said, and Hermione nodded.

"As I said, I thought that was the last we would see of each other," she continued. "But…well, we sort of ran into each other again…at Hogwarts."

"He's a student there? You didn't mention he was on holiday too," Mrs Granger said, but Hermione just shook her head, casting her eyes downwards.

"One of the foreign visitors," she clarified. She took a final deep breath. "From France."

"But…Hermione, you said the French school that visited was…" Her mother clapped her hands to her mouth.

"An all-girls school, yes," Hermione said, her voice shaking. "I'm…going out with a girl…" And that was that. No turning back, no twisting the facts, no escaping it. Her parents just sat there, motionless, staring at her. Unable to look them in the eyes, Hermione simply focussed at the space between them. It was as though time had slowed down, or stopped completely; the only sound was of the carriage clock beside the television. A moment later, she felt her control slipping, and her eyes becoming moist. "I'm sorry…I…I'm sorry…"

"Hermione Jean Granger, _no_." In an instant, her mother was at her side, pulling her into a tight embrace. "Don't you dare apologise. You've done nothing wrong; nothing at all."

"I just…I just thought…" the brunette tried to say, but she was cut off again.

"Thought what?" Mrs Granger asked, stepping back and giving her daughter an encouraging smile. "Hermione, we may not understand magic, but we understand _you_." She placed her hands upon Hermione's shoulders, squeezing gently. "We know that you're far from an ordinary girl; you wouldn't enter into something like this unless you were absolutely sure." She looked over her shoulder. "Right, dear?"

"Of course," Mr Granger said, getting to his feet and standing with his family. "Honestly, what did you think we would say?"

"I…I don't know…" she admitted. "You hear all these stories about people being kicked out of their homes…"

"And you thought we would do that?" her father asked, seemingly aghast. "Hermione, we accepted you being a witch; what would it say about us if we didn't accept this?"

"Thank you…" Hermione murmured. "I…I love you…"

"Oh, Hermione, come here," her mother said, pulling her daughter into another tight hug. She felt her father join them, and held onto her parents as tightly as she could. She couldn't believe it; it couldn't have gone so well; been so easy, could it?

"Darling, if this is what you want, then that is all we need to know," her father said. "Your mother and I both know that you are mature beyond your years."

"You're not going to tell me it's just 'a phase'?" Hermione asked, managing a small smile. "Or that I'm confused?" Her parents both laughed.

"You're far too organised for that," her mother said. "A phase would be a waste of valuable time, and you _never _get confused."

"Thanks," the brunette said, giving her parents a final squeeze, before slowly pulling away, a wide smile upon her tear-stained face.

"Come on, let's sit down," her father said. "You can tell us all about the lucky girl." And so they sat, huddled together on the sofa; Hermione felt strangely closer to her parents than she could remember ever feeling.

"Well," she took another deep breath. "Her name is Fleur. Fleur Delacour." Her smile only grew. Such a simple thing; but her parents knew the blonde's name now; something that made her feel oddly happy. "She's two years older than me; in fact she was the Beauxbatons Champion that I mentioned."

"I can't imagine that went down well with Harry," her mother said, but Hermione just shook her head.

"Actually he was fine with it; he was even okay with Fleur sitting with us at dinner," she replied. "They get on really well. Ron took a little bit of convincing…"

"Oh?" Her father raised an eyebrow.

"Well, Ginny seems to think that Ron…fancies me," the brunette said awkwardly. "I don't know how true it is, but he did seem quite hostile at first." She shook her head, remembering the broken nose Fleur had given the redheaded boy. "But he's fine with it now."

"You have good friends," Mrs Granger said. "You don't need to worry so much about people not accepting you." She paused for a moment. "Does this mean you're a…"

"I don't know," Hermione answered quickly. "We actually spoke about this…Merlin, it was only yesterday…the thing is, Fleur is the only person I've ever felt attracted to like this. I've had a couple of brief crushes over the years, I'll admit that, but never anything even remotely approaching what I feel for her."

"I understand," her mother replied. "Well, what's she like?"

"Odd," the brunette said. Fleur wouldn't thank her for such a summary, but it really was the best word for her. "She carries herself like one of the popular girls. Well…she is one of the popular girls; most popular in her entire school, in fact. But underneath that, she's one of the most caring and sweet people I've ever met. She's intelligent, funny, and always listens, even when it's about something that doesn't concern her. She's…"

"I think we get the picture," Mr Granger said, grinning. "Dear me, you have got it bad…"

"Do you have any pictures of her?" Hermione's mother asked, to which she nodded. She had left them in her room, tucked beneath her pillow.

"I'll just go get them," she got to her feet and headed upstairs. She couldn't stop smiling; her parents' reaction had been better than she could have dreamed. She had expected shouting, arguing, having to defend herself against claims that she didn't know what she was doing. And yet, part of her couldn't help but think she had become worried over nothing; they were her parents – she may not see them much, but they had always been there for her before. The bushy-haired girl grabbed the photographs – making sure to leave out the one of her and Fleur kissing in front of half the school – and made her way back down the stairs. As she neared the living room, she heard her parents' voices, and slowed down, intrigued by what they could be saying.

"-not our place to judge," her mother's voice said. "I'm just as surprised as you are, but you saw her; she was terrified of what we might say to her." There was a pause. "Hermione's a bright girl…what am I saying? Hermione's a genius: she wouldn't make a decision like this lightly."

"You're right, I suppose," her father replied. "It'll take a little getting used to, but it doesn't change anything."

"Well like you said," Mrs Granger continued. "If we got over her being a witch, I think we can manage this."

Smiling, Hermione stepped into the room, photographs in hand. She flopped back into where she had been sitting between them, and held up the pictures. "Here we are," she said. "That's Fleur." Her parents leant closer, and watched as the photographic Fleur smiled up at them. Hermione herself was in the background, talking to Harry about something. The picture had been taken in the grounds, and as such, the part-Veela was wearing her girlfriend's Gryffindor scarf, her silvery-blonde hair moving in the slight breeze.

"She's beautiful," Mrs Granger said. Then she frowned. "Wait a minute…I recognise her!" She looked up at her husband. "Remember the nice girl who gave us directions to the bakery? The one who spoke English really well, and she had the little sister that looked just like her."

"That's right," he said, examining the picture more closely. Hermione couldn't believe it; all this time, and her parents had actually met Fleur before she had. Shaking her head at the bizarre revelation, she looked back at the picture.

"Her sister's name is Gabrielle," she said. "Very shy." She moved onto the next photograph, and her cheeks coloured slightly. This one depicted she and Fleur, hands held firmly, laughing about something. As they continued, the photographic Hermione leant her head against Fleur's shoulder.

"Oh, Hermione…" her mother said. She looked to her daughter, who returned the attention curiously. "You look so happy…" She looked back down at the photograph. "I've never seen you look so happy…" There was something bittersweet in her mother's tone, and Hermione didn't quite know how to react. She just nodded wordlessly, and continued to thumb through the pictures.

If her parents had been open to the idea of her being with Fleur before, they were absolutely ecstatic with the news after seeing the photographs. Something about the unbridled joy on their daughter's face seemed to strike a chord with them. Hermione couldn't help but get a sense that her parents – particularly her mother – were slightly subdued by the fact that they had never seen the brunette so care-free and happy before, but they seemed to focus on the fact that they now had, and it was all because of the girl with her in those photographs. Deciding now would be better than any other time, Hermione tentatively mentioned her invitation to France over the holidays. To her great relief, both of her parents immediately agreed that she could go. At the age of fifteen, Hermione was still a child in the eyes of the law, but her parents were not ignorant to her maturity, nor to the fact that she never did something unless she was sure it was the right thing to do.

When Hermione finally went to bed that night, she was still smiling. However, as she lay there, feeling like a stranger in the unfamiliar bed, a thought occurred to her; it felt like weeks since she had seen Fleur, so distant in both time and location. She could scarcely believe that that last photograph – the one still hidden beneath her pillow – had been taken only that morning. This was the first time she had been to sleep since parting from girlfriend; their farewell had only been that same morning. It would be a while before Fleur finished her exams, and until then, at least Hermione could rest safe in the knowledge that her parents had both accepted her, and said yes to her visit. As the young witch drifted into sleep, she wondered what Fleur was doing at that moment. Was she already asleep? Staying up studying? Were her parents with her at Beauxbatons? Whatever the blonde was doing, she hoped that she was at least sparing a thought for Hermione; for Fleur was all she herself could think of.


	3. Reunited

**Harry Potter and all related characters and places are owned by JK Rowling - I just make them dance for my own amusement.**

**As some people noticed, the last chapter raised a bit of a continuity issue regarding Hermione's parents' knowledge of Fleur. I did go back and alter the offending lines in Entwined before I uploaded the last chapter, but it turns out I missed another one. It's now been fixed, and I must commend all of you who spotted it. Thanks for the heads up!  
><strong>

**~xxx~**

For the following two weeks, Hermione focussed almost entirely on her homework. She had been set a rather large amount, even by her standards, and as usual she was getting it out of the way sooner rather than later. It had been strange adjusting to being apart from Fleur, but she was still riding on the high of her parents' reaction to the news she had brought them upon her return, and was in high spirits. In the time since that day, she had endured a few rather awkward questions and comments from her parents. She knew they didn't mean to offend, but they clearly hadn't quite wrapped their heads around the fact that their daughter was in a relationship with another girl. Her father, especially, seemed to be having difficultly grasping the fact that Hermione still had no idea of how to 'classify' herself, given that Fleur was the only person she felt attraction to. Still, it hadn't stopped a few amusing conversations regarding which of them was the 'man' of the relationship, ending up with Hermione rather vehemently denying that she was going to give herself a short, boyish haircut. How they had even ended up on the subject, she couldn't quite remember, but the jovial nature of the discussion was welcome.

She had also finally been able to explain the origin of the pocket watch she always carried. She had told her parents that she had found it on the beach on holiday, saying it was likely someone had lost it. But of course, with the revelation of her involvement with Fleur, it only took Hermione checking the time one day to remind them of it, and instantly guess at it's true origin.

However, despite her general good mood, she was still beginning to really miss Fleur. She had of course expected it, but it was beginning to get to her; something which caused only more worry, given that upon her return to Hogwarts, she would be going months without the blonde's company. Still, she would address that when the time came. For now, she found herself staying awake late into the night, flicking through her various textbooks and occasionally glancing up at the photographs that now adorned her noticeboard. In a neat row, every picture in which Fleur was present was lined up. From the pair of them at the Yule Ball, right up to their final kiss. Of course, she could have probably got her work done a lot faster if she weren't frequently being distracted by the images, but for once she welcomed it.

As melodramatic as it sounded, Fleur's absence was beginning to feel like a hole had been cut into her, and was slowly growing. Knowing that the part-Veela was out there, and yet not having a clue what she was doing or how she was feeling, wasn't something Hermione was comfortable. She wished she had an owl of her own; she could have sent the blonde a letter while she was still at Beauxbatons. It had then occurred to her that she didn't even have any of her girlfriend's contact details, as she herself had given to Fleur. That meant it was entirely up to the blonde to make contact, and a small but vocal part of Hermione's mind was becoming increasingly paranoid as to whether Fleur would ever contact her.

On Friday evening, the young witch was sat in the middle of the living room floor, surrounded by books and papers. Her parents had suggested she work downstairs, as her bedroom tended to get rather warm during the day. Plus, she got the impression they enjoyed just knowing she was there; something that was unfortunately a rarity. She was just about to finish her final paragraph on a particular rune structure, when she was startled by the sound of the phone ringing. Being so used to Hogwarts, she had to admit that the loud noise often made her jump, not that she would ever admit it. She waited a moment, before getting to her feet. However, Mrs Granger quickly appeared through the door, telling her not to worry and that she would get it. Hermione flopped back down onto the floor, and watched as her mother picked up the receiver.

"Hello?" There was a pause. "Yes, who is it?" Another pause, and then she gave a rather knowing smile. "Of course, I'll just pass you over." She turned to her daughter. "It's for you, dear."

Hermione frowned. Who on earth would be phoning her? She had no muggle friends, and Harry would have sent Hedwig. However, as she took the phone from her mother, realisation dawned on her, and she had to stop herself from snatching it out of her mother's hand. A nervous energy buzzing through her, she raised it to her ear.

"Hello?" Her mouth had gone oddly dry.

"Bonsoir, mon amour." Even over a telephone that voice sounded heavenly. She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling almost as though the wind had been knocked from her.

"Fleur…" she breathed, her own voice rather shaky. The other girl gave a throaty laugh.

"I do 'ope no one else would greet you zat way, 'Ermione," Fleur chuckled.

"If they did, you'd be the first to know," Hermione replied, regaining her composure somewhat. "I…didn't expect you to phone me…"

"I 'ad no way of knowing if your 'ouse 'as a fireplace or not," Fleur replied casually. "And even if it did, I do not zink your parents would take kindly to a stranger's 'ead appearing in zere living room, non?"

"True enough," the brunette replied, shifting into a more comfortable sitting position. "So how did you get a phone, anyway?"

"Papa 'as a telephone in 'is study," the part-Veela explained. "'E works at ze French Ministry of Magic, so sometimes 'e 'as to speak wiz muggle liasons. Besides, it makes an interesting change from using ze floo network."

"Tell him thank you from me," Hermione said, smiling. She gave a sigh. "It's…it's so good to hear your voice again…"

"I feel ze same," the French witch said, her tone becoming serious. "'Ermione, I…it 'as been torture wiz'out you…"

"Fleur, don't say that," the brunette said, feeling a sudden pang of guilt at not being at her girlfriend's side. "It can't be that bad."

"It is," she replied simply. "'Ermione, I am beginning to understand some of ze zings Maman told me. Being wiz'out you…I feel as zough I am going crazy…I barely got zrough my exams."

"But you _did_ get through them, right?" Hermione asked. If Fleur had done badly in her final exams, she would never be able to forgive herself. "You passed them?"

"Oui, wiz flying colours," Fleur replied dismissively. "Zat is unimportant. Every night, I feel as zough I was missing an arm…I 'ave not been sleeping well…I 'ave been raz'er…difficult…to deal wiz, or so Gabrielle 'as told me."

"Oh Fleur…" the brunette bit her lip, her girlfriend's words cutting into her. "I…I don't know what to say…"

"You do not need to say anyz'ing," the older witch said with a sigh. "I am sorry for dropping zat on you, 'Ermione…"

"I'm glad you did," she replied earnestly. "Fleur, I've been missing you like crazy ever since I got back."

"I would be offended if you were not," the older girl said, sounding a little more cheerful. "Now, 'ave you spoken to your parents yet?"

"Oh, yes, as soon as I got back," Hermione replied. "They took it really well, and they've already said I can visit!"

"Fantastique!" Fleur sounded elated. "Oh, 'Ermione, I 'ave been so worried. I zought zat maybe you would not be allowed, and zat zey 'ad reacted badly or-"

"Calm down," the brunette interrupted, chuckling. "Honestly, you're as excitable as your sister."

"As I am ze eldest, surely Gabrielle is as excitable as _me_, non?" the part-Veela said. "So, 'ow soon can you be 'ere?"

"I…don't know," Hermione looked up at her mother, who she realised with some embarrassment had been standing there the whole time. "I'd have to ask."

"Well do zat now," Fleur said, not quite able to hide her enthusiasm. "I will wait."

"Okay." The younger witch covered the mouthpiece. "Mum, Fleur wants to know how soon I can get there?"

"I'm not sure," Mrs Granger replied. "You haven't even told us how you're getting there. If you're going to fly out, it could be another couple of weeks at least."

"Fleur should have passed her apparition exams by now," Hermione said, looking thoughtful. "It's more an issue of…when…"

"Oh…" Her mother looked a little put out, but forced a smile. "Well, as much as I would love to have you here for the holidays…" Her smile grew. "…I have seen how much you must miss her." Hermione nodded, her cheeks reddening slightly. "So…tomorrow?"

"Oh Mum, thank you," the brunette said, wishing she could get up and hug her mother, but the cord of the phone probably wouldn't reach. Instead, she uncovered the mouthpiece, and took a deep breath. "Tomorrow."

"Merveilleux!" Fleur exclaimed. "Oh 'Ermione, I cannot wait. You are going to love it 'ere. I can show you all ze-"

"Why don't you just show me when I get there, hm?" Hermione suggested, grinning at her girlfriend's enthusiasm. "If you can wait that long."

"I will 'ave to manage," the part-Veela said, giving a rather melodramatic sigh. "I cannot wait to 'old you against me again, mon amour…"

"Oh stop," the brunette replied with a rather uncharacteristically girlish giggle.

"Mmmmm very well," Fleur replied, her voice becoming rather sultry. "But tomorrow, do not count on me to stop…"

"I hope that's a promise…" Hermione said, before again realising she had forgotten her mother was standing right beside her. She didn't dare look up to see her reaction. "Anyway, we should probably stop chatting and start getting things organised. When shall I expect you?"

"'Ermione, do not be surprised if you are woken in ze morning by me apparating onto your bed," the French girl teased. "I will be zere as early as possible."

"Alright," the brunette said brightly. "Well then, I'll see you tomorrow, Fleur."

"Must you go so soon?" Fleur replied, putting on a rather pitiful tone. Hermione laughed.

"If you want me to be ready to leave tomorrow, then yes," she said. "Just remind yourself that in twenty-four hours, we will be with each other again."

"Mmmm, very well," the part-Veela purred. "Until we are reunited, mon amour."

"See you tomorrow," Hermione said, before hearing a click on the other end. She sighed, and lowered the phone, only now noticing how much her arm had begun to ache.

"You can stop grinning any time you want, Hermione," her mother teased, taking the phone from her. "Honestly, you look like a child at Christmas."

"Very funny," her daughter replied, unable to come up with a better response. She closed the book that had been left open in front of her, knowing that any further attempt at studying today would be futile. She couldn't quite believe it; she had just spoken to Fleur Delacour, Beauxbatons' star student and Triwizard Champion, on a muggle telephone. And now she needed only count down the time to their reunion in hours rather the days or weeks.

"So how long are you going to be gone?" Mrs Granger asked. Hermione realised with a mixture of surprised and amusement that they hadn't even discussed how long she would be staying with Fleur.

"Well…" she began. "I'm not entirely sure. I'll have to come back a while before term starts to get my books, and I'm sure the Weasleys will invite me to stay again; it does make everything easier." Upon seeing the look on her mother's face, she got to her feet and smiled. "Don't worry, I'll make sure you see me for at least a few days before then."

"Oh don't worry about me and your father," her mother replied. "You're not a child anymore, Hermione, much as it pains me to admit it." She gave a small smile. "And something tells me you have someone else far more deserving of your attention at the moment."

**~xxx~**

Hermione spent the entire evening packing. It wasn't so much of a problem of fitting everything in – something she had become rather adept at doing without magic – but instead simply deciding what to take. She desperately wanted to take her homework to finish, but wondered whether Fleur would even let her spend any of her time studying. Still, if she was there for a couple of weeks or more, then surely some days could simply be spent lounging around, giving her ample opportunity to get her work done. Her father had been rather surprised at the sudden decision, but didn't seem to mind. Knowing it would be their final meal together for a while, Hermione's mother pulled out all the stops, and that night the young witch went to bed feeling considerably bloated, but in a comfortable, sleepy sort of way.

The next morning, a tiny part of Hermione had to admit that she was disappointed to not be awoken by a certain French girl appearing on top of her. Still, she got dressed rather quickly and headed downstairs with her fully-packed bag, completely forgetting to even set foot in the bathroom. She had a quick breakfast consisting of two slices of toast, before sitting herself rather expectantly at the bottom of the stairs, facing the front door. Both her parents seemed highly amused by this, and teased her mercilessly as they ate their own breakfast. Before too much longer, the doorbell rang, and in an instant Hermione was on her feet, wrenching the door open.

Which of course startled the postman so much that he nearly dropped the parcel he was carrying. Rather embarrassed, the brunette took it and gave it to her father – apparently it was a model car he had ordered – before returning to her spot on the bottom step. A couple of hours passed, and still there was no sign of Fleur arriving.

"Did she actually say what time she would be arriving?" her mother asked as she passed by, taking some washing outside to hang on the line.

"Just 'early'," she replied. "But I have thought of something rather worrying." It had started as a small thought in the back of her mind, but the more she thought about it, the more it concerned her.

"What's that?"

"Fleur has never seen the house," Hermione said. "To apparate somewhere, you need to concentrate very hard on that place. You can do it from just seeing a picture, but it's always easier if it's a place you've actually been to."

"But surely if there was a problem, she could have just phoned again?" Mrs Granger said. "I'm sure everything will be fine."

And so a few more hours passed. Hermione had even pulled out one of her textbooks and continued reading, cautiously glancing up at the door every few minutes. It was a testament to the effect Fleur had on her, that the normally calm and collected Hermione Granger was becoming something of a nervous wreck. She even ate a spot of lunch in her place on the stairs, which even while she was doing it, felt rather pathetic. It was mid-afternoon, and she was just considering taking her shoes off and asking her mother to lay her a place for dinner, when the doorbell mercifully rang again. Hermione looked up at the opaque window in the centre of the door.

And sure enough, she could make out a silvery-blonde head through it. Careful not to stumble over her own feet, she dived for the handle, and yanked the door open.

"Bonjour, 'Ermione."

"…Apolline?" The disappointment in her voice must have shown. Fleur's mother gave a small laugh.

"I must apologise for my daughter's absence," she said. "But she promised to take Gabrielle and some of 'er friends on a walk, and I did not raise a daughter zat breaks 'er promises."

Hermione nodded, and turned as her parents both entered the hallway from the living room. Hermione stood to the side. "Mum, Dad, this is Madame Apolline Delacour, Fleur's mother."

"How do you do?" Hermione's father greeted her, shaking the woman's hand before his wife did the same. "Is there a problem?" He turned to his daughter. "Only Hermione said Fleur would be picking her up."

"Non, no problem," Apolline said. "My daughter is unfortunately caught up in a previous engagement. 'Owever, she was willing to allow me to pick 'Ermione up, raz'er zan 'ave to wait any longer." She smiled. "If 'Ermione has been anyz'ing like Fleur, you will know just 'ow desperate zese two little lovebirds are to see each other again."

"We did get that impression, yes," Mrs Granger said, smiling as her daughter blushed. "Well, Hermione, have a good time." The brunette nodded, and pulled her bag over her shoulder.

"Take care," her father added, pulling her into a brief hug. "You'll give us a call later?"

"As soon as I can," Hermione replied, smiling. "Bye!"

She followed Apolline out of the house, and with a final wave, bid goodbye to her parents. The door closed, and she turned to the Frenchwoman, who smiled down at her. "It is so good to see you again, 'Ermione," she said. "After everyz'ing zat 'appened at 'Ogwarts, it is nice to remember zat some good came from it." She looked up and down the street. "Hm, this would 'ave been easier done in your 'ouse, actually. We should find somewhere out of sight."

As they walked, Hermione remembered her thoughts on Fleur's ability to apparate. "Mada- …Appoline?" she asked. "Fleur said she was going to pick me up, but she's never even seen my house; she wouldn't have been able to."

"Ahhh," Apolline smiled. "She was 'oping you would not remember zat. Fleur raz'er enjoyed ze mental image of 'erself as a knight in shining armour coming to take you away." She chuckled. "Zat is why am I am doing it, of course. Zough what I told you is true – she is wiz Gabrielle and 'er friends. Fleur wanted to wait at ze 'ouse, but I zought she needed somez'ing to take 'er mind off of zings."

"I could have used that," Hermione said as they turned down a side path that led to a row of garages. "I was sat there all morning."

"_You two_," Fleur's mother said fondly, shaking her head. "I 'ave never seen a pair so 'opelessly in love as you." Hermione blushed, and looked away. "Ah, zis should do." She gave another brief look around, making sure they were out of sight, before holding out her right arm. "'Ave you ever apparated, 'Ermione?"

"Um…no," Hermione replied. "I know what to expect, but I've never had anyone take me."

Apolline nodded. "We will be making a brief stop-off on ze way," she said. "It would be dangerous to attempt ze full trip from 'ere to our 'ouse in France in one journey. Still, it should only take a moment. Are you ready?"

"Yes," the brunette lied. She had read about how unpleasant the feeling was at first, and how a lot of people were often sick on their first few trips. Still, she steeled herself, and took the woman's arm.

"'Ere we go zen."

Hermione braced herself, and suddenly felt herself jolted forwards. She felt as though the very air was pressing against her, squeezing her through what felt like a tight tunnel. She gripped Apolline's arm as tight as she could, keeping her eyes tightly shut as her hair whipped around. And before she knew it, she was hitting the ground as though jumping from a low height. Her knees buckled, and she barely managed to stay on her feet. She opened her eyes, and found herself on a grassy hill, overlooking a small town. She now knew where the compulsion to be sick came from, and had to force the disgusting feeling back down.

"Are you alright to go on?" Apolline asked, clearly concerned. Hermione held up her hand.

"Give me a second," she said, struggling to stand back to full height. "Where are we?"

"In France. Zis is a town we once visited on 'oliday," the older witch said. "In fact, ze same 'oliday you and Fleur first met."

"Right," Hermione said with a nod. "Okay, I think I'm alright." Tentatively, she took hold of Apolline's arm again. "Let's go."

Again, she felt as though she had been lassoed around the stomach, pulled through a tight, twisting tube, before hitting the ground again. This time, her feet came into contact with hard stone. She maintained her balance better this time, and looked up. Before her was the sea, stretching out to the horizon. Taking in her surroundings, she saw that she was standing on an old road, situated up a slight hill. To one side, she could see a small town along the water's edge, overlooked from where they now stood. The area seemed to be a cove of sorts, with large 'arms' of rock creating a bay within which the town was situated. The road appeared to wind and twist down towards the town, giving some sense of how high up they were. As her senses fully cleared, she noticed Apolline walking in the other direction, and turned on the spot.

When Fleur's mother had described her home as a 'house', Hermione decided she had used the wrong word. Standing tall, three stories high, was the most magnificent mansion Hermione had ever seen. The building was enormous, covered in ornate detailing around it's many windows. The main entrance was flanked by a pair of tall pillars. It was a stark reminder of the prestige surrounding the Delacour family, and Hermione couldn't help but be in awe. Apolline paused and turned, smiling.

"Come on, 'Ermione," she said. The brunette nodded, dragging her eyes away from the grand old building. Apolline led her through the large double doors, and into an enormous entrance hall, and Hermione was distinctly reminded of the Beauxbatons Carriage's interior.

"Wow…" she found herself saying, staring up at the chandelier hanging above them.

"I am sure Fleur will give you ze tour later," Apolline said, smiling at Hermione's reactions. "I will show you to your room, and you can put zat 'eavy bag down." The brunette nodded silently, only half listening as she continued to take in the beautiful house. She was led up one of the two flights of stairs – one on each side of the entrance hall – up onto a landing that overlooked the entrance hall, and through a door, emerging into a corridor. They headed to the left, before reaching a door at the end of it. "Zis will be your room."

Hermione nodded. "Thank you," she said. "Wha-" But Apolline was already heading in the opposite direction. The bushy-haired girl frowned, before shrugging and opening the door.

The bedroom was incredibly grand. Not as unnecessarily large as the entrance hall, but still much larger than her own at home. A large, king-sized four-poster bed stood out from one wall, surrounded by thin, sky blue drapes, which were swaying slightly in the breeze. There were three large windows along one wall, one of which was open. Against the wall opposite the bed, was a desk. Hermione frowned when she noticed a few papers strewn about it. Curious, she set her bag down upon the floor, and stepped closer to the desk. As she approached, it became clear that the documents were in fact drawings. Some in pencil, others in what appeared to be charcoal. The closest image was that of a horse; beautifully realised with an exceptional level of detail. Were these meant to be decoration? She moved the first image out of the way, and looked at the next. And then froze.

It was a drawing of Hermione. A very nude Hermione. She swallowed; this was most definitely not a guest bedroom.

The door clicked shut, and for a moment there was silence, save for the distant sound of the waves. Tentatively, she turned on the spot, and saw that she was no longer alone.

Before she could even get a word out, she was shoved against the wall, a pair of hungry lips moving desperately against her own. Fleur encircled her with her arms, pulling the younger girl tightly against herself as she continued to devour her. Somewhat dazed, it was a while before Hermione even fully realised what was happening. Finally, she began to respond, allowing the other girl entrance into her mouth as their tongues wrestled for dominance. The blonde pulled away briefly, and Hermione was about to speak, before she found herself all but thrown across the room onto the bed. Fleur followed like a predatory animal, pinning the younger girl beneath her and setting about kissing her neck, instantly finding a spot that caused Hermione to let out a low moan. The blonde moved back to her girlfriend's lips, kissing her hungrily and passionately until her head was spinning.

Minutes later, she finally pulled away, looking down at the witch still held down beneath her. Both girls were breathing heavily, their eyes locked together. Fleur gave her usual toothy grin, which Hermione returned.

"Hello."


	4. Something Stirs

**Harry Potter and all related characters and places are owned by JK Rowling - I just make them dance for my own amusement.**

**Been a little while, hasn't it? This chapter was pretty hard to crack, but I think it turned out nicely. More on the way soon!  
><strong>

**~xxx~**

"Bonjour, mon amour."

Hermione couldn't quite believe it. After what had felt like an eternity, she was finally back where she belonged. Fleur looked the same as ever; toothy grin in place, her silvery blonde hair hanging down around either side of the younger witch's head, curtaining her from anything other than that gorgeous face she had longed to see again. Fleur continued to smile, and leant down again, peppering Hermione's neck with gentle kisses. The brunette let out a laugh and encircled the other girl's waist with her arms. "I was beginning to think you'd lost the ability to speak," she teased. The blonde's head popped up again.

"Why talk when we should be making up for all ze time we 'ave lost?" the older girl said, resuming her worship of the other witch's neck. Hermione just rolled her eyes, but found them fluttering shut as Fleur hit a rather sensitive spot. She could feel the desperation in the blonde's movements, and tightened her hold, leaning her head up to allow her girlfriend greater access. Had she been thinking clearly, she probably would have mused on the fact that not fifteen minutes ago, she was still at her house in England. But she was most definitely not thinking clearly; not with a ravenous Fleur Delacour on top of her. A sudden boldness overtaking her, Hermione rolled the pair of them over, pinning the blonde beneath her. The part-Veela let out what could only be described as a growl, but grinned at the brunette's actions.

"Mmmm now zere is my petit lion…" she purred. Hermione leant her head down, narrowing her eyes.

"_Little?"_ she asked dangerously. "I'll give you little, Delacour."

However, whatever she was about to do – she hadn't quite decided – was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Apolline regarded the couple with an amused expression, and Hermione could already feel her cheeks burning. "As much as it pains me to break zis up," she said. "It is nearly time for dinner." Hermione could feel Fleur's arms tightening around her possessively. Noticing this, her mother shook her head and continued to smile. "Zere will be plenty of time to reacquaint yourselves later, ma petit," she teased. "Now come along." She closed the door, and Fleur looked back up at Hermione, who smirked.

"Well then," she said. "We shouldn't keep them waiting." Though how she wished that they could do exactly that; something Fleur seemed to agree on.

"I would almost zink you did not want to be alone wiz me," the blonde replied haughtily, scowling up at the other girl, who just continued to smile.

"Think of it this way; the sooner we have dinner, the sooner you can steal me away again," the younger witch said. Fleur quirked an eyebrow.

"You seem raz'er forward, 'Ermione," she said suspiciously. "Are you after some'zing?" The brunette shook her head, glancing away briefly.

"No, I just…" she paused, betraying her feelings. "I missed you, Fleur. I really…really missed you…" The blonde gave her a warm smile, and reached up to cup Hermione's cheek. Instinctively, Hermione leant into her girlfriend's touch.

"And I missed you, ma chérie," the part-Veela said. "But we are togez'er again; zat is all zat matters." The bushy-haired girl broke into a smile again, and nodded. "Now zen; downstairs, dinner, zen I will take you up on ze offer of stealing you away."

"And I need to call my parents," Hermione said. "They'll want to know I got here alright."

"But you only left zeir 'ouse a short while ago," Fleur pointed out. Hermione smiled; she sometimes forgot that like Ron and Ginny, Fleur was a stranger to the muggle world.

"Well muggles can't get around as easily as we can," she said. "So to get from England to France would be quite a long trip. It's normal for them to contact people back home to tell them they got there without incident."

"Fair enough," Fleur said, shrugging. Hermione just rolled her eyes at the other girl's dismissiveness. Clearly being away from Hermione had diminished the blonde's interest in muggle-related topics.

"Come on then," the younger witch said, pulling back and kneeling over Fleur. "Dinner."

"…you know…I raz'er like being down 'ere wiz you up zere…"

Hermione just glared.

**~xxx~**

When they eventually arrived downstairs – Fleur had ended up pinning Hermione to the door and claiming another rather long kiss – the blonde led Hermione to the dining room. Her reunion with Fleur had almost distracted the brunette from the fact that she was in quite possibly the grandest building she had ever seen, and as such she found herself momentarily stunned as they entered. The room was enormous, with tall, ornate windows running along one side of it. Occupying most of it was a lengthy table; had it been any longer, it would have been approaching the size of the House tables at Hogwarts. Hermione wondered briefly just how often it was ever fully occupied, but was distracted from further observations when a blonde-haired blur slammed into her, knocking the air from her lungs and causing her to gasp.

She was vaguely aware of Fleur laughing somewhere behind her, and looked down to find an excited face staring up at her. For someone so small, Gabrielle was surprisingly strong; Hermione felt as though her ribs would break if she were hugged any tighter.

"Gabrielle, lâches la!" Apolline's voice called. The brunette looked up to see Fleur's parents seated together at the far end of the table, both wearing very amused expressions.

"'Ermione!" the youngest Delacour squeaked. "I missed you!" She seemed rather pleased to have said it in English.

"And I missed you too," Hermione replied, placing a gentle hand upon Gabrielle's head.

"Gabrielle, let ze poor girl go," Apolline said, shaking her head in amusement. Reluctantly, her daughter did as asked, before scampering out of the dining room. Fleur frowned.

"Where is she off to?" she asked.

"'Er friends are still 'ere," Fleur's father replied. "Zey are 'aving a picnic outside."

"Zen if Gabrielle is allowed to eat wiz 'er little friends, why can I not eat in my room wiz 'Ermione?" the blonde asked, folding her arms. Her girlfriend had to stifle a smile; it was amazing how well someone usually so elegant and poised as Fleur could behave like a petulant child.

"Because you are an adult now," her mother said, waving a hand. "And besides, 'Ermione's neck does not constitute a proper meal."

The brunette's face went positively scarlet. She had almost forgotten that Apolline's reaction to the relationship between herself and Fleur was less one of acceptance or approval, and more one of downright encouragement. Hermione stared at her feet for a moment; it was a testament to how close Fleur's parents already felt to her that they didn't even bother with a formal greeting, preferring to skip right ahead to the embarrassing comments only parents were capable of making. However, her head snapped up when a realisation dawned upon her. Fleur an adult? That meant…

"Fleur…" she began quietly, turning to her girlfriend. The blonde seemed to know what was coming, and returned her gaze apprehensively.

"'Ermione, my birz'day was a week ago," the part-Veela said, forcing an apologetic smile.

"Why…why didn't you tell me?" Hermione replied, consciously trying to keep her voice calm in front of Fleur's parents.

"What good would it 'ave done?" the blonde asked. "You would 'ave only been more upset zat you could not spend it wiz me." She blinked. "I mean…I 'ope you would 'ave…"

"…I suppose you're right," the younger witch replied, shaking her head. "But…I haven't got you anything…I didn't even know…some girlfriend I am…"

"Oh 'Ermione," Apolline said, shaking her head and smiling. "Fleur 'as not even received 'er gifts from us yet. She only returned from Beauxbatons ze day before last, and we all decided it would be best to celebrate once you were 'ere."

"'Ermione, you being 'ere is better zan any gift you could buy me," Fleur said softly, placing a comforting hand upon Hermione's shoulder. At the head of the table, Fleur's father chuckled.

"I told you she would say zat…" he said. The brunette gave a small smile and nodded. She would decide how best to make it up to Fleur later, but not in front of her parents.

"Come along, you two," Apolline said, gesturing at the two seats opposite she and her husband. "Before your dinner gets cold."

"Of course," Fleur said, moving forward and pulling Hermione's chair out for her. The bushy-haired girl couldn't help but smile, not quite able to decide whether Fleur was being chivalrous of her own accord, or simply to please her parents. Either way, the gesture was appreciated. As she sat, she took her first look at the food upon her plate, and her smile only grew.

"Ah, bouillabaisse," she said, glancing at Fleur who was grinning back.

"Fleur told me zat it 'as some sort of 'special meaning' for ze two of you," Apolline said, with an eyebrow raised. "Whatever zat means."

"Oh, yes, it…ah…was sort of how we met again," Hermione explained, smiling at the memory. "Well, it was definitely how Fleur and Ron met for the first time, at least."

"You 'ave no idea how close I came to just sitting down beside you," the blonde said, twiddling her spoon thoughtfully. "But you seemed raz'er nervous."

"Well of course I was nervous!" the younger girl said. "You just turned up out of nowhere – I thought you were a muggle, remember?"

"Mmm, so long ago…" Fleur mused, smiling.

"Are you two going to eat anyz'ing at all?" Fleur's father asked with a laugh.

"You 'ave retold ze story of 'ow you and Maman met more times zan I can count," the blonde pointed out, finally starting her food. "I believe we are allowed."

"You know," Hermione began, swallowing a mouthful of her stew and finally acting on something she had realised. "You don't have to speak English for my benefit; I can speak French."

"Oh, of course," Apolline said kindly. "Forgive us, 'Ermione, we do not mean to imply anyz'ing about your grasp of our language. But-"

"Maman 'as banned me from using my native tongue," Fleur cut in irritably. When Hermione frowned in confusion, she continued. "I 'ad wanted it to be a surprise, but I suppose you would not stop asking about it if it went unexplained." A small smile crept onto her face. "I 'ave a job now. In London."

"Oh Fleur, that's wonderful!" Hermione said excitably. She wanted to hug the blonde, but their current positions made that more than a little awkward, so instead she settled on placing a hand upon her shoulder for now. "Where is it? When do you start?"

"Gringott's," the part-Veela said. "Noz'ing zat special, but ze pay is good. I start ze day after you leave for 'Ogwarts."

"And so Fleur 'as to get into ze 'abit of speaking English wiz'out 'esitating," Apolline explained. Hermione nodded in understanding.

"Well, I think your English is already fantastic," she said fondly. She remembered one of their last conversations at Hogwarts, where Fleur had shown her ability to perfectly mimic a British accent, leading to Hermione realising just how much she enjoyed her girlfriend's accent. "So, does that mean you'll be coming back with me when I leave?"

"Exactly so," Fleur said. "And I would very much like to meet your parents-" She shot her mother a glare. "-seeing as I was not allowed to collect you myself."

"Fleur, you 'ave never even seen 'Ermione's 'ouse," Apolline pointed out. "You would 'ave ad no idea where you were going."

"Actually I wanted to ask about that," Hermione said, turning to Fleur's mother. "How did you know how to get there?"

"Oh, I once visited a friend 'oo lived not zat far from where you do now," she explained. "I recognised ze street name on ze details you gave Fleur." Hermione nodded, and returned to her food. It was a testament to how quickly she became accustomed to muggle life again that she was still a little taken aback by how fast everything was happening. She still hadn't been there for even an hour, and already she was having dinner with Fleur's parents. Then again, her own had been preparing theirs not long before she had left.

"Could I use your phone once we're done?" Hermione asked a few minutes later. "It's just my parents will want to know I'm okay."

"Of course," Fleur's father replied with a nod. "I will take you to ze study as soon as we are finished."

"Papa, why don't I do zat?" Fleur asked. "'Ermione _is_ my guest after all."

"And it is your turn to 'elp clear ze table," Apolline said with a small smirk. "You don't want to ignore your duties in front of your mate, do you?"

Fleur just grumbled and went back to her food. It was interesting observing her and her family at ease. While Hermione had been able to do something similar at Hogwarts before the Third Task, it was somewhat more relaxed here; and the teasing was all the stronger. As they continued to eat, Fleur's parents questioned Hermione about her end of year exams, and her academic prowess in general – clearly something Fleur hadn't elaborated on, other than telling them the oft-repeated assumption that Hermione was the best witch in her year. They were clearly very interested, especially Apolline; then again, given her focus on the idea that Veela find 'mates', it was unsurprising that she wanted to find out as much as possible about her.

When they had finished, Fleur begrudgingly stayed behind to help her mother clean up, while her father escorted Hermione from the room. She was led to a relatively small room, with every inch of it's walls covered by bookcases, aside from gaps for the door and a small window opposite it. Dominating the floor was a large wooden desk, upon which sat neat stacks of papers. In fact, it reminded Hermione somewhat of Professor McGonagall's office – littered with points of interest, but all of them neatly ordered and in their rightful places. Beside the papers, there was a rather ordinary looking telephone, and Hermione gave a grateful smile as Mr Delacour stood to one side to let has past.

"Can you find your way back on your own?" he asked, to which she nodded.

"Yes, thanks." Fleur's father nodded, and left Hermione in peace. She quickly reached for the receiver and – briefly pausing to remember the prefix required to call from France – dialled her home number. Just as it had when speaking to Fleur only the previous day, the act of simply using a telephone felt oddly alien to her.

She waited a few moments as it rang, before her mother's voice answered. "Hello?"

"Hi Mum," Hermione said brightly.

"Hello Hermione," Mrs Granger replied warmly. "How is everything?"

"It's fine," the brunette said. "Sorry I didn't call sooner – we had dinner pretty much as soon as I arrived."

"That's okay, dear. Your father and I were just finishing dinner ourselves." As her mother spoke, Hermione eased herself into Mr Delacour's chair. "How's Fleur?"

"Oh she's fine," she said. "Very pleased to see me, as you can imagine." She was very glad her mother couldn't see how red her cheeks were becoming at the memory of Fleur's 'greeting.' "You should see their house, though," she continued. "It's amazing – it's like some of those old mansions we went on tours around on holiday."

"Well you did say they had a lot of money," Mrs Granger said. "I expect whatever guest room they have you staying in is bigger than our entire living room!"

"Oh, yes it is," Hermione replied, biting her lip as she pictured her mother finding out she was sharing a room – and bed – with Fleur.

"So how long are you going to be staying?" her mother continued. "I take it the wizarding community doesn't need to bother with immigration control and passports?"

Hermione laughed. "No," she said. "I imagine we'll be back a week or so before term starts. I think Mrs Weasley might invite me to stay at the Burrow again, but I'll make sure I get to spend at least a couple of days at home before that."

"'We'?" her mother repeated, and Hermione grinned.

"Well…Fleur has a job in London now," she explained. "So when I come back, she'll be coming with me."

"It'll be lovely to finally meet her," Mrs Granger said. "Well, keep in touch, and just make sure you tell us when you're coming back _before_ you decide to turn up on the doorstep."

"Alright," the brunette replied with another laugh. "Give my love to Dad."

"Have fun, dear." There was a click, and Hermione place the receiver back down. She sat there for a moment, unable to stop smiling. She gave the study a quick examination, but decided not to linger, lest her curiosity get the better of her. Making her way back to the dining room, she was greeted with an empty room. She stood there awkwardly for a moment, before Apolline appeared through a door on the opposite side of the room.

"Ah, zere you are," she said, smiling as she tucked her wand away. Hermione assumed she had been using it to do the washing up. "I zink Fleur 'as gone up to 'er room. Make sure you tell 'er she is very rude for not waiting for you."

"It's fine," Hermione said, chuckling. "Dinner was delicious, thank you."

"You are very welcome," Fleur's mother replied with a nod. "I 'ope you enjoy your stay 'ere." She paused, and her smile faded somewhat. "Fleur 'as…missed you greatly, 'Ermione. More zan she will probably admit." She shook her head slowly. "You are ze best zing zat 'as ever 'appened to zat girl of mine," she continued. "I do 'ope you will forgive me for urging you to per'aps show it a little more."

"Um…what are you saying?" the brunette asked, rather puzzled by Apolline's words. It sounded almost as though she was being accused of doing something wrong.

"Simply zat Fleur is a little worried zat she is putting too much pressure on you," the woman said. "By 'er own admission she can be raz'er forward-" Hermione mentally agreed, distinctly remembering the time she and Fleur had worked on her Golden Egg clue, the entire duration of which the blonde had spent completely naked. "-and she 'as said she worries you will feel compelled to do zings wiz 'er zat you are not entirely ready for."

Hermione found herself rather baffled; she was pretty sure she was the one setting the pace of their relationship: not once had she felt forced into anything, at least not seriously – Fleur did like to tease, after all. Still, the implication that Fleur was the only active party in their relationship seemed to stir something within her, and it wasn't very happy.

"Well then," the brunette said, feeling a rather strong and sudden urge to get back to her girlfriend. "I had better not keep her waiting."

"'Ave fun," Apolline said, her eyes twinkling as Hermione headed from the room. Hermione noted with some amusements that Fleur's mother had echoed the farewell her own mother had given. She remembered the way up to Fleur's room, and quickly reached it again. The door was closed, and she found herself unsure of whether or not she should knock. Deciding to take the bolder option, she simply opened the door, and was met with a very bizarre sight.

Fleur's legs were sticking out from under her bed.

At the sound of Hermione's entrance, the legs disappeared, and the blonde's head popped up from behind the other side of the bed. "Oh, zere you are," she said, using the bed to help herself back to her feet. She looked down at herself, finding her blouse hid ridden so far up that her stomach was visible. "Oh, pardon." She pulled it down. "I was trying to find an earring. I could 'ave sworn I 'eard it fall when I pulled some of my cloz'es out." She gestured at the bed itself, upon which what could only be Fleur's school trunk was sat, half empty. "I 'ave not 'ad a chance to unpack since I got back."

"Do you need some help?" Hermione asked, closing the door behind her. "Get it done quicker?"

"Zat would be very 'elpful, merci-" She caught herself, and let out an irritable sigh. "I mean, _zank you._"

"Oh you don't need to worry about that around me," the brunette said with the wave of a hand. "Besides, I enjoy the French pet names."

"Oh?" Fleur's tone instantly became much warmer. She stepped around the bed, a definite sway in her hips, and encircled the other girl's waist with her arms. "Like zis, ma chérie?"

"Mmmmm just like that," Hermione said, rather startled that her own voice had involuntarily dropped into something resembling a purr. The two came together in a brief kiss, before Hermione stepped back, still smiling widely. "So then, birthday girl," she began, still surprised at the confidence she seemed to be exuding. "I still need to get you a present."

"Really, 'Ermione, you do not," Fleur insisted. "You not knowing was my doing, and I will accept zat."

"I wasn't asking," the brunette said, flashing a wide smile. She stepped further into the room, her eyes wandering for a spark of inspiration. They settled upon the desk, where Fleur's schoolbooks were now sat, neatly piled up. She moved closer, and regarded them for a moment, before carefully sliding the entire pile to the side. Beneath, the drawings she had seen earlier were still sat.

"Oh, 'Ermione, please do not look at zose…" Fleur said, tentatively stepping closer. Hermione was intrigued now – as her own confidence grew, Fleur's almost appeared to be waning, as though they both drew it from the same pool. Then again, the top drawing _was_ probably a little embarrassing, even for someone as headstrong as Fleur. "I can explain zat," she went on. "You know I much I missed you, and-" She stopped as Hermione held up the drawing of herself, looking at it carefully. Where she had earlier only felt confusion at the image, she now felt the beginnings of an idea.

"You never told me how much of an artist you were," the bushy-haired girl said delicately. She had to admit, she herself was feeling a little prickle of embarrassment at the picture now; it did feature her naked body, after all. Still, that wasn't going to deter her.

"Oh, zey are just doodles," the blonde said, scratching the back of her head nervously. "I can get rid of it if you would like…"

"I think that would be best," Hermione said, turning to face the other girl. Fleur's own cheeks were rather red; a definite rarity, and something that only served to make Hermione's smile grow. "Because before we leave, you're going to draw it again." She bit her bottom lip briefly, glancing at the picture. "And this time, you'll have me as your model so you can make sure you don't forget the tiny birthmark on my left breast."

Fleur looked as though she might explode with glee.


	5. In The Golden Light

**Harry Potter and all related characters and places are owned by JK Rowling - I just make them dance for my own amusement.**

**Sorry about the wait for this one, but I've been spending quite a bit of time rewriting and updating my Alice in Wonderland fic. Now that that's done and back on track, the same should be true of this fic! FYI, this is the longest chapter yet.  
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**~xxx~**

The next morning, Hermione woke to a feeling of complete comfort and warmth. She was laying on her side, Fleur's arms wrapped loosely around her. The blonde was facing her, her long hair spilling out in all directions. The younger witch smiled at the sight of her sleeping girlfriend; it sounded clichéd, but she looked so peaceful and serene. The brunette shifted closer, and felt the arms instinctively tighten around her. They had spent much of the previous evening talking about nothing in particular, enjoying each other's company more than the conversation itself. As evening turned to night, they had changed – Hermione rather coyly doing so hidden from Fleur's view – and settled down for the night. They had slept beside each other at Hogwarts multiple times, but there was something different about laying there in Fleur's large double bed; knowing that they were meant to be there, rather than the blonde sneaking in as she had done at school.

Golden sunlight was streaming in through a thin gap in the curtains, the edges of which were swaying in the breeze. Hermione had been apprehensive about keeping the window open overnight, but it was so warm it seemed to be a necessity. Outside, the ever-present rumble of the ocean could be heard, as well as that of the trees that surrounded the Delacour Mansion, swaying in the morning air. Hermione didn't want to move; the moment was too perfect. Her smile widened as Fleur let out a quiet murmur, shifting slightly in a subconscious effort to move closer to the girl in her arms. Unwilling to wake the sleeping girl, the brunette slowly scooted closer again and nuzzled the blonde's neck gently, unable to help herself as her girlfriend's enchanting scent overcame her. She had often wondered why Fleur always smelt as good as she did; perhaps it was a Veela thing. Though more puzzling was just when Hermione Granger had taken to sniffing people. She let out a quiet chuckle at the thought, and instantly felt the other girl tense for a moment.

"A que riez-vous?" Fleur mumbled, her speech muffled by Hermione's thick bushy hair. The younger witch moved her head back, taking in the blonde's sleepy smile and feeling only warmer at the sight.

"Oh, rien," she replied, returning her head to it's original position and snuggling into her girlfriend again. Fleur gave a lazy smile, likely pleased with the brunette speaking French, be it only a single word.

"Mmmm…" the older girl shifted somewhat, and slowly rolled onto her back, pulling Hermione with her so she was laying fully atop her. "I 'ave never slept so well." She laughed. "Zough I believe I said somez'ing like zat ze first time we slept in ze same bed."

"I think you did," Hermione replied, moving her arms slightly so they were no longer pinned beneath Fleur. She smiled again. "But I am forced to agree."

"Forced?" the part-Veela quirked an eyebrow, and the brunette was rather aware of the blonde's grip on her become a bit firmer. "You know I would never force you into anyz'ing, 'Ermione."

"Oh, no I didn't mean…" The younger witch remembered Apolline's words the previous night. "I know you wouldn't, Fleur. It was a poor choice of words."

"Forgive me," Fleur replied, loosening her hold. "I do sometimes worry…"

"Well don't you worry one second more," Hermione said softly, resting her head against the other girl's chest. "Like you could force me into anything, anyway."

"Zat sounds like a challenge," the blonde said, sounding more cheerful now. She tightened her hold on Hermione's waist. "Just what could I make you do…?"

"Don't forget what I'm already doing for you," the brunette replied with a smirk. Truth be told, she had in fact had a dream about her upcoming 'modelling', though in that version Harry and Ron had promptly appeared out of nowhere, before they all took a ride in a rather elegant teapot – Hermione blamed the foreign food for that part.

"Oui, zat is true," Fleur said, her smile only growing. "I believe I know exactly where to place you…"

"Wait." Hermione frowned, lifting her head slightly. "I thought we were just going to do it in here?"

"In 'ere?" the part-Veela repeated. "Mon dieu, of course not! Ze lighting is all wrong, and my bedroom is 'ardly an appropriate scene for someone of your beauty." She shook her head vehemently. "Non, I 'ave a much better place in mind."

"…right," the brunette said, not entirely sure she liked this new development. She felt ready for Fleur to see her in such a state, but only if there was no chance of anyone else witnessing it. "So…where were you thinking?"

"It is somewhere in ze grounds," the blonde said. "Zat is all I am saying."

"Fleur, I really don't feel comfortable parading around where anyone could see me," Hermione said, a frown creasing her brow. "This is something I wanted to do for you, not for anyone that happens to be walking around."

"Oh 'Ermione," Fleur chuckled. "No one else will see, I can assure you. Ze grounds are large, and I know more zan a few secluded spots. It will be fine." She gave Hermione's cheek a gentle stroke with a single finger. "I want to get you in ze right light…"

"Well, if you're sure," the brunette replied, still somewhat uncertain. "But only if I'm satisfied that you're right when we get there."

"Dear me, and you were so forward last night…" Fleur said silkily, bringing her arms and tangling them within her girlfriend's bushy hair. "Somez'ing wrong?"

"Not at all," Hermione said, her smile slowly returning as she settled her chin back down upon Fleur's chest. "I get to wake up beside you – how could anything be wrong?"

"Mmmmm, you make a good point," the blonde purred, continuing to play with the other girl's hair. "'Opefully somez'ing we will become very used to, non?"

"Indeed," the younger witch replied, closing her eyes as she snuggled into her girlfriend. "You know…I almost wish I didn't have to go back to Hogwarts…"

"'Oo are you, and what 'ave you done wiz my 'Ermione?" Fleur teased, cracking her usual toothy grin. "Not zat I do not agree, but I am surprised at you."

"Two years, Fleur," Hermione said, almost mournfully. "Two years before this can be our lives…" She sighed. "Not to mention everything else that is happening…"

"Do not dwell on zat," the Frenchwoman said softly. "It is true zat I do not enjoy ze prospect of so much time away from you, but we 'ave no choice." She gave an encouraging smile, and Hermione already felt a warmth spreading through her. "And I will always wait for you. Ze day you graduate from 'Ogwarts, I will be waiting zere wiz open arms."

"Hmm, and I'll give you a nice big snog in front of everyone," the brunette said, smiling again. "Did you have a graduation ceremony? Or is that something else I missed?"

"Oh, non." Fleur shook her head. "Wiz all ze business wiz ze Triwizard Tournament, zey did not see fit to 'old a separate ceremony for zose zat visited 'Ogwarts. And even if zey 'ad, I was forced to stay at Beauxbatons even longer zan ze oz'ers to complete my exams." She chuckled. "Zey sent my certificates in ze post."

"Well then," Hermione said, edging further up along the other girl so their faces were level. "Here's a 'well done' from me." She leant down and placed a gentle kiss upon Fleur's waiting lips, letting out a small squeak when the part-Veela suddenly tightening her hold around her. The blonde returned the kiss rather forcefully, probing at the other witch's mouth with her tongue. Hermione denied her entrance for a moment, before letting out a murmured chuckle and giving in to her girlfriend's desires.

By the time the two of them rose from bed, the sun had fully risen in the sky. Fleur stretched in rather cat-like fashion, letting out a yawn as she did so. Hermione watched her for a moment from the bed, eyes unashamedly roving up and down her girlfriend's body. Unlike the occasions they had shared a bed at Hogwarts, Fleur was wearing her own nightwear; a rather tight sleeveless shirt and shorts. The brunette was definitely starting to understand some of the oddities of relationships that had baffled her before experiencing them for herself; she had often wondered whether the appeal of a person's body would be lessened after seeing them completely unclothed. Having seen Fleur in such a state, she could quite categorically say that this was not the case – the part-Veela looked startlingly alluring, especially with the sunlight hitting her as it was. Driving her rather lecherous thoughts away, the younger witch climbed out of the bed and headed over to her bag - it was sat against the wall near Fleur's desk, having been rather unceremoniously shoved aside by the blonde when she had jumped Hermione the previous day.

"You can put your toiletries in ze baz'room," Fleur said, letting out another quiet yawn. Hermione looked up, and saw that her girlfriend was holding open a door she hadn't even noticed until now – it was one of those hidden doorways so common in grand old houses, blending in perfectly with the wood panelled walls when closed. Beyond, she could see tiled walls.

"You know, you do strike me as the sort of person that would have their own private bathroom," the brunette replied, earning a mock glare from the French witch.

"And just what is zat supposed to mean?" she asked, receiving only a somewhat cheeky smile from Hermione as she stepped past her, carrying her bag into the other room.

They ended up brushing their teeth together, both seemingly taking note of the 'married couple' vibe they appeared to be exuding. They kept exchanging small smiles; Fleur seemed to be as close to laughing as Hermione felt. She wasn't entirely sure where these feelings were coming from, but for some reason the brunette already felt entirely used to this, as though it were part of an old routine. Maybe it was the knowledge that one day – hopefully, at least – it would indeed become routine. Either way, she had never had so much fun simply getting ready in the morning.

**~xxx~**

When they eventually headed downstairs, they were treated to the pleasant aroma of breakfast wafting throughout the house from the kitchen. Fleur led the way, and they were soon at the source of the delicious smell. The kitchen was quite large, with several rather old-fashioned ovens and stoves lining the walls. If anything, it was more akin to the Hogwarts kitchens; seemingly equipped to cater for hundreds of people. Hermione mused that this was probably a relic of the house's past, as most old manors were originally built to host many guests in days gone by. The brunette was rather pleased to see Apolline herself watching over the food, as opposed to a hired cook – or worse, a house-elf. She had to admit, she had expected a family as wealthy and high-class as the Delacours to rely on servants, but from what she had seen so far, both of Fleur's parents seemed eager to look after their house and family themselves.

As they entered, Fleur's mother turned around, a broad smile upon her face. "Good morning, 'Ermione," she said brightly. "Did you sleep well?"

"Very," the brunette replied, shooting her girlfriend a brief grin. "But that may have had something to do with the company…"

"Wonderful," Apolline said, turning back to the breakfast she was preparing. "It is so good to see ze two of you so 'appy togez'er…"

"And do I not get asked 'ow I am zis morning, Maman?" Fleur asked waspishly, moving around the table and sitting down, folding her arms.

"'Ermione is our guest," her mother replied, turning briefly and giving her daughter a sly smile. "And besides, you always sleep well. You could quite 'appily snore your way zrough a storm at sea!"

"I do _not_ snore," the blonde shot back.

"Yes you do," Hermione cut in - almost nonchalantly - as she poured herself a glass of orange juice. Sensing Fleur's glare, she looked up for a moment and smiled. "Oh don't worry, it's quite cute really."

"I zink I should just go back to bed," her girlfriend said irritably. "Ze two of you always gang up on me."

"Only because we love you," Apolline replied, sweeping past her daughter and ruffling her long hair as she went, carrying two plates with the other hand; reinforcing Hermione's assumption that she often cooked for the family herself. She set them down in front of the two girls, before returning to the kitchen counter. "So, what are you two doing today?"

"I was zinking of showing 'Ermione around ze grounds," her daughter said, tucking into her breakfast. "Wiz it being such a nice day." The brunette had to hide her smile; she got the distinct impression that Fleur had become adept at twisting the truth, remembering their conversations the previous year about the blonde sneaking out of windows at Beauxbatons.

"You should take some food," Apolline suggested. "Make a day of it and 'ave a picnic."

"That sounds nice," Hermione said. "The weather's meant to be pretty bad in England at the moment; it'll be nice to enjoy the sun while I can."

"Raining all week, according to ze paper," Fleur's mother said, nodding at a folded newspaper sat upon the table. Hermione tilted her head, and saw it was titled 'L'Oracle,' which she assumed was the French equivalent of the Daily Prophet.

"I am surprised you are so keen to be outside in ze sun," Fleur said slyly, finishing her croissant. "I zought ze library was your natural 'abitat."

"Oh _really?"_ the brunette replied waspishly. "You can read books perfectly well outside. It's just rather difficult to do at Hogwarts with all those people running around the grounds."

"I did not see much reading going on when I was zere," the blonde continued to tease.

"And I wonder why that was," Hermione deadpanned, rolling her eyes. "Couldn't have had anything to do with you, I'm sure."

"You love it when I distract you," Fleur said, breaking into a wide grin and stoking the side of Hermione's leg with her foot beneath the table.

"And I hate it when you're right," the younger witch replied, managing a small smile as she finished her own breakfast.

"Where are Papa and Gabrielle?" Fleur asked, turning back to her mother. Apolline chuckled.

"Down in ze village," she replied. "Gabrielle 'as been going on and on about some muggle musician, so your faz'er 'as finally given in and allowed her to buy one of zose…" She frowned. "…oh, what are zey called…?"

"CDs?" Hermione offered, and Apolline nodded.

"Zat was it," she said, nodding. "I often forget you are muggle-born, 'Ermione."

"It comes wiz being ze best witch in 'er year," Fleur said, receiving a rather embarrassed look from Hermione. "Zat said, zere were girls in _my_ year zat did not 'ave your knowledge."

"When you are quite finished praising your girlfriend," Apolline began. "Per'aps you should get some food togez'er for your little picnic, hm?" Fleur nodded, and got to her feet. She took Hermione's empty plate along with her own and carried them to the draining board beside the sink. "Just leave zem zere," her mother said. "I'll take care of zem."

"'Ermione," Fleur began, turning to the other girl. "Could you put our food togez'er? I want to get my hat."

"Um, alright," she replied, casting a nervous eye over the many cupboards around the kitchen. "Could you get mine t-" But Fleur was already gone.

"Oh, forgive 'er," Apolline said, shaking her head. "Fleur can be a bit oblivious sometimes. Come, I will show you where everyz'ing is."

**~xxx~**

As Hermione had suspected, Fleur had not disappeared to simply retrieve a hat. Instead, she had seemingly snuck out of a different exit – she didn't dare ask if it was a window - somewhere, and appeared outside the kitchen. With a rather confused look, Hermione left through the kitchen back door, carrying a rather large hamper that her girlfriend's mother had provided for their food. Fleur was smiling brightly, her large sketchpad under one arm.

"You could have just got that afterwards," Hermione said, but the blonde shook her head. She was indeed wearing a large summer hat, which rather bizarrely had her wand tucked into the ribbon around the middle of it.

"Not when I 'ad ze perfect distraction for Maman," she replied with a sly grin. Hermione just rolled her eyes.

"Glad to be of service."

Fleur took her free hand, and guided her across the lawn. The mansion's back garden appeared to be a clearing of sorts, with a circular barrier of trees around it. However, it quickly became apparent that the grounds extended far beyond this small area. The trees provided welcome shelter from the sun, which was still climbing in the sky, casting down shafts of golden light through the foliage. The morning air was thick with birdsong, and the ever-present sound of the crashing waves in the distance, something Hermione was beginning to grow accustomed to. They continued on their way, eventually emerging into a wide grassy expanse. The land was a little wilder here, with tall grass and various flowers growing in seemingly random locations. It was a far cry from the neatly cut lawns on the other side of the trees, but it seemed to reflect the side of the Delacours Hermione was more familiar with. On the other side of the field, Hermione could make out a relatively large wooden structure. It looked somewhat like a stable, though it had definitely seen better days; part of the roof was missing and the wood seemed to have become somewhat warped. Still, it had something of a rustic charm to it, and she wondered whether this was the spot Fleur had mentioned. However, she found herself being led along the edge of the field, and towards another area of trees.

"Just how large are the grounds?" she asked, ducking a low-hanging branch as they began to make their way through the trees.

"Large enough," Fleur replied, smiling briefly over her shoulder. "We are nearly zere."

When 'there' came into view, Hermione had to fight to keep her jaw from dropping. Completely hidden by the trees until now, was a grassy outcrop, with a few more flowers randomly dotted about. But what made it such a surprising sight was what lay behind it: the sea. Beyond the edge of the grass, was a shear drop leading all the way down to the ocean below. The Delacour estate wasn't just overlooking the ocean from above the town on one side, but from atop this cliff face on the other as well. Hermione felt a tug on her hand, and tore her eyes away from the beautiful sight, finding herself looking at another one. Fleur smiled.

"So what do you zink?" she asked. "Out of sight, and appropriately lovely, non?"

"Fleur, it's breathtaking," the brunette replied, allowing herself to be led forwards a bit more. She was wary of the edge, of course, but it was clearly visible, and the ground looked solid.

"I used to come 'ere when I was young," Fleur explained, releasing her girlfriend's hand and stepping further towards the cliff face, the wind whipping at her long hair. "When Gabrielle was born, I felt raz'er left out, as older siblings usually do…" She sighed. "I came 'ere all ze time. In fact, I did my first painting 'ere. Noz'ing amazing, of course – I was very young – but it is still a very special place to me…"

"I always wanted a sister," Hermione mused. "When I was younger, anyway. I know my parents talked about it, but after they found out I was a witch, they seemed to think one child was enough."

"It is no better or worse, to be honest," the blonde replied. "I love Gabrielle dearly, of course, but I would be lying if I said zat it 'as always been easy. It is no fault of 'er's, but I do sometimes wonder 'ow things would 'ave been if I had been ze only child."

"You sound quite bitter about it," Hermione said, rather surprised at her girlfriend's words regarding her sister.

"Oh, non," Fleur shot her a brief smile. "Not anymore, at least. When I was younger – more immature – I resented ze attention Gabrielle received. Zat is probably why I started acting ze way I do sometimes. And it worked in my favour, non? Everyone looks at me as ze respectful older sister; ze unattainable ice queen, luring young men in wiz 'er Veela charms."

"Unattainable?" the brunette repeated, chuckling to herself. "I thought I did a pretty good job 'attaining' you."

"You know ze real me," the older girl said appreciatively. "You know 'oo I really am; not ze façade I put up around oz'ers. It is not a subconscious zing, 'Ermione – I do it quite deliberately." She let out another sigh. "But per'aps it is time to end zat, hm? I am done wiz school, and I 'ave no intention of being wiz anyone oz'er zan you." Hermione felt her heart swell somewhat at those words. "Maybe I should just zrow ze old Fleur Delacour off of zis cliff…"

"Fleur, you know you don't need to pretend anymore," the brunette said. "All my friends know what you are really like anyway; you have nothing to prove."

"I suppose you are right," Fleur said with a nod. She was silent for a moment, before shaking her head and turning to face her girlfriend. "Forgive me, mon amour, I did not mean to get so carried away zere."

"It's fine," Hermione replied, raising a hand to stop Fleur's protests. "We all need to let it out sometimes, and if you can't talk to me, who can you talk to?"

"Very true," the part-Veela said with a smile. "So zen, shall we…ah…get started?"

"Oh, yes," the brunette said quietly. Truth be told she had almost forgotten the reason for their being here, but she wasn't about to back down now. She set the hamper down at the edge of the trees, watching as Fleur set her sketchbook down and began to step back from the edge, looking over the area. "Where do you want me, then?"

"I am deciding," Fleur replied, her brow knitted together in a frown. "What I need is…ah!" She bent down, and picked up a small stone. "Zis looks right." She moved closer to the edge again, and placed the stone upon the ground again. She reached up to her hat, and withdrew her wand. "_Engorgio._" Instantly, the stone swelled, almost as though it were in fact a balloon. In fact, it couldn't even be called a stone any more – it was now a rather large rock. Hermione felt a momentary wave of annoyance, knowing she was still unable to perform magic outside of school while Fleur was free to do as she pleased. "You can sit on zis."

"Okay," the brunette said with a nod. She took a deep breath, smiling nervously at her girlfriend's rather expectant look. "Well…I'll just get ready while you set up…"

"'Ermione, if you don't want to-"

"Fleur, I said I want to," she interrupted. "I wasn't lying. Now get your things ready and I'll be with you in a moment." Fleur nodded, and turned to retrieve her sketchbook. As Hermione made her way into the trees, she heard the blonde using another enlargement charm, most likely creating some seating for herself. She was surprised that Fleur hadn't questioned her removing her clothes out of sight; she had expected a flirty comment, at least. But perhaps the part-Veela – as Hermione herself did – wanted this to be somewhat special, rather than her just standing there taking her clothes off in plain view. Part of her still couldn't believe she was about to do this, especially outside. But, she reasoned, only Fleur would see her – and she had already seen the blonde in such a state. It sounded strange, but to her, it was only fair.

Satisfied that she was far enough out of Fleur's view, she set about removing her t-shirt, following quickly by her shoes and trousers. She glanced over her shoulder, making sure Fleur was still distracted. She didn't know why she even bothered – the blonde was about to see her with nothing on at all anyway. Finally, she began removing her underwear. It was an odd feeling, knowing she was outside and yet completely bare; the breeze from the sea against her, but it was certainly not unpleasant. Shoving her clothes into a ball and picking them up under one arm, she slowly made her way back out into the open, a scarlet tinge already creeping across her cheeks. As she had suspected, Fleur was sat upon a second large rock, her sketchbook open upon her crossed legs. She seemed so engrossed in lining her various sizes of pencils up, that she didn't even notice Hermione's return, until the brunette cleared her throat.

The blonde shot to her feet, her back still turned. There was a moment's pause, before she slowly – and seemingly rather nervously – turned to face the other girl.

"Mon dieu…" she breathed, her voice rather quiet. "Vous êtes si beau…" Hermione felt her blush only grow in intensity as the other girls' eyes unashamedly moved up and down her bare body. "'Ermione…" Fleur stepped closer, looking utterly lost for words. Beneath her embarrassment, Hermione felt a small flicker of pride, knowing she was able to get such a response from her girlfriend, who was now standing right in front of her. Fleur reached up, and slowly stroked a finger along the other girl's collarbone, trailing down to the center of her chest, before slowly bringing it down between her breasts. Hermione shivered, but made no move to stop the blonde's actions. As her finger reached Hermione's stomach, Fleur allowed it to swing back to her side, her eyes still fixed upon the brunette's. "My 'Ermione…" she murmured, before moving closer still and enveloping the shorter girl in a tight embrace.

Wishing to return it, Hermione dropped her clothes where they were, and brought her arms up, embracing her girlfriend. Fleur let out what sounded like a purr, before placing a series of gentle kisses along Hermione's shoulder.

"You are ze most beautiful creature zat 'as ever walked zis world," she whispered, trailing a hand over the other witch's exposed back. "I am sure of it…"

"I can't be," Hermione replied, repressing another shiver. "She's standing in front of me…" She could have slapped herself for that remark, but she had long since resigned herself to the effect Fleur had on her in situations like this. "Shall…shall we get started then?"

"Very well," Fleur said. It was clear from her expression that she was quite content to spend her time embracing her nude girlfriend, but she obliged anyway, stepped back and tearing her eyes away as she retrieved her sketchbook. "Well zen, take a seat."

Hermione did as she was told, stepping past the blonde and towards the rock near the edge of the outcrop, forcefully telling the disapproving part of her mind that any sway that found it's way into her hips was purely accidental. She paused for a moment, looking out over the sea stretching to the horizon, and admittedly prolonging the sight she was sure Fleur was enjoying of her backside. Finally, she turned and seated herself upon the rock. She had been dreading it's cold surface, but found it had already been warmed a fair bit by the sun, and was actually quite pleasant, if a little rough.

"How do you want me sitting?" she asked. Fleur looked up, and thought for a moment.

"Could you lean on your left hand?" the blonde instructed. "And put ze right one somewhere on your leg?" Hermione did as she was told, and received a nod from the other girl. "Perfect."

"How still do I need to be?"

"As still as is comfortable, but you need not be a statue," Fleur said. She raised her pencil, but paused for a moment. "'Ermione, I really appreciate zis."

"It's no problem," the brunette replied. "As I said, consider it a birthday present." The older witch smiled and nodded.

"Well zen, let us begin…"

**~xxx~**

Watching Fleur draw was an intriguing sight; Hermione wished she was able to peer over the blonde's shoulder, but of course, that was more than little impractical given she was the subject of the picture. She had long since realised she had something of a fascination with the part-Veela's hands, and watched with no small amount of pleasure as she watched those elegant digits grasping the pencils delicately. There seemed to be a rhythm to Fleur's work; she kept looking up at even intervals, almost like clockwork. Hermione had to wonder if finding her girlfriend's ordered work ethic attractive was an oddity, but she had already discovered more than a few bizarre things about Fleur that caused her anything from amusement to downright arousal.

They had taken a break after about an hour, though Fleur had been quick to close her sketchbook lest the brunette try to see the drawing in it's unfinished state, something which admittedly, she had intended to do. It was quite possibly one of the strangest lunches Hermione had ever had; sat on a blanket, completely naked, having just had Fleur pulling small stones off from where they had become stuck to her while she sat.

As the day went on, it became warmer, and Hermione actually felt rather glad that she was spending it unclothed. After she had been sat upon her rock for a while for the second time, something occurred to her. They had been talking about the Delacour estate in general, and she had learnt a great deal about of mansion's history and past residents, including some rather scary sounding Veela ancestors. "That building we passed on the way here," she said. "It's a stable, isn't it?"

"Oui," Fleur replied, turning her eyes upwards briefly. "I used to 'ave my own 'orse, before I went to Beauxbatons." She smiled. "'E was such a lovely animal. Very spirited, but ever so friendly."

"What happened to him?"

"Well, wiz me gone for most of ze year, it would 'ave been unfair on 'im," she explained. "And Gabrielle was far too young to take my place – it would 'ave been a few years until she was old enough to ride 'im, so we decided it would be better for 'im to go to a 'ome where 'e could be properly looked after."

"Is he the horse you did that picture of?" Hermione asked, thinking back to the drawing she had seen before finding the one of her.

"Zat's right," Fleur replied. "After 'e left, Papa was going to turn ze stable into somez'ing else, but 'e never got around to doing it." She chuckled. "Zough Gabrielle does enjoy playing wiz 'er friends in what is left of ze 'ay barrels, so at least it is getting some use." A moment later, she set her pencil down, and smiled. "Zere, finished."

"Really?" Hermione sat up to full height, an expectant look upon her face. The blonde grinned and nodded.

"Come and see for yourself," she said. As Hermione got to her feet and headed towards her, Fleur's eyes performed a similar dance to before, trailing down the brunette's body.

"Excuse me, Miss Delacour," the younger witch said, smirking as she placed a hand on her hip. "I'm up here."

"Pardon," Fleur said, her cheeks actually reddening slightly. Hermione shook her head.

"Oh Fleur," she sighed fondly. "You can look all you want; I stopped being embarrassed by it over an hour ago." She chuckled at Fleur's rather slow nod. "Now come on, let's see it."

"Of course," the blonde said. She lowered the sketchbook, and turned it to allow Hermione a better view.

"Oh…that's…wow…" The drawing certainly depicted Hermione, but not as she had been expecting. Her bushy hair had been lengthened, and now covered her chest. But the most startling alteration was to her legs; in that they weren't there. Instead, at around waist level, her skin gave way to scales, leading to a large fish tail. Fleur had turned her into a mermaid.

"Not what you were expecting?" the blonde asked, looking up with a grin. Hermione returned it, examining the drawing closely.

"Fleur, it's amazing…" she said. "…though I'm quite sure my chest isn't that big."

"I can assure you, I 'ave not exaggerated anyz'ing," Fleur replied seriously. "You are perfect as you are."

"Except I don't have a tail," the brunette teased. "I have to say, I'm quite amazed you decided to cover everything up. Here I am, stark naked, and yet you can't see it."

"Sometimes it is what you cannot see," the older witch said. "I know you zink I am obsessed wiz getting you into bed, 'Ermione, but I am not so desperate zat I would take advantage of you."

"Well anyway, it's fantastic," Hermione said, attempting to hide just how touched she was by Fleur's words. "We'll have to do this again."

"Any chance to 'ave you out of your cloz'es," Fleur said, her voice dropping in tone somewhat as she grinned again. Hermione just rolled her eyes.

"Now there's the Fleur I know," she muttered. "Anyway, I had better get dressed."

"May I have a kiss first?" the blonde asked. "'Oo knows when I will 'ave you like zis again." Hermione regarded her carefully for a moment, before smiling and nodding.

"Alright," she said. "One kiss."

Fleur got to her feet, placing her sketchbook upon the rock. She smiled, and tucked a strand of Hermione's bushy hair behind her ear. "You truly are beautiful, ma cheri," she murmured, leaning her head closer. Hermione allowed her eyes to flutter shut, leaning in to meet Fleur's lips. Which meant she was very surprised when she felt the top of the blonde's head brush against her chin, before Fleur planted a lingering and rather noisy kiss upon the side of her breast. She gawked at the taller girl as she straightened up, and just flashed another one of her toothy grins.

"An apology to your birz'mark for covering it up in ze drawing," she said matter-of-factly.

"You are such a pervert," Hermione said, shaking her head and unable to hide her smile.

"Wiz you as a girlfriend, it is 'ard not to be," Fleur replied, chuckling to herself. "Anyway, we probably should be getting back. Zey will be wondering where we 'ave got to."

"Not so fast," the younger witch said, placing a hand upon Fleur's shoulder to stop her moving.

"What is it?" The blonde looked perplexed, and Hermione just smiled serenely.

"You haven't kissed the other one yet."

"…vous êtes tel un perverti…"


	6. A Perfect Summer

**Harry Potter and all related characters and places are owned by JK Rowling - I just make them dance for my own amusement.**

**Been a while again, which certainly wasn't my intention. Still, after seeing Deathly Hallows Part 2 twice now, we're back on track. This is something of a short chapter, but that's mainly to help the longterm structure of the story. The wait for the next chapter shouldn't be as long.  
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**~xxx~**

By the time Fleur and Hermione made their way back to the Delacour mansion, it was mid-afternoon. The blonde had given Hermione a proper look at the dilapidated stables, as well as a few other points of interest around the expansive grounds, and they had agreed that any straw and hay tangled in their hair was the result of falling over in it, and absolutely not due to the two of them throwing it at each other before rolling around together in it. The brunette was rather glad Fleur was the only other person present, as she was well aware that Ron and Harry would likely brand her a hypocrite, given how often she rolled her eyes at their snowball fights. Still, the sight of Fleur Delacour, hair messed up beyond belief and panting heavily, was far from unpleasant. It served as a reminder of just how different the blonde behaved around her, and as the mansion itself came into view again, she thought back to Fleur's words that morning. Was she really willing to behave this way in front of everyone else now? It would certainly shatter their perceptions of her as the ever-graceful Veela seductress, but perhaps it would once and for all show them just why Hermione was so enamoured with her.

As they drew closer, the back door opened and Gabrielle came speeding out, bounding across the lawn towards them. She skidded to a halt in front of them, doubling over and panting. "Gabrielle, what is it?" Fleur asked, bending down to talk to her breathless sister.

"Fleur, Grandmere est ici!" the younger blonde said brightly, looking up at them with a large grin. However, Fleur looked less than thrilled.

"Ah," she replied simply, straightening up. Gabrielle just waved enthusiastically and rushed back into the house. Hermione gave her girlfriend a curious look.

"Is your grandmother being here a problem?" the brunette asked. Fleur sighed.

"Not exactly," she said. "I adore my grandmere, it is just…well, you zink Maman goes too far wiz all ze Veela talk sometimes? Try talking to a full-blooded Veela about it." She shook her head, not even noticing the small piece of straw falling from her hair as she did so. "She is going to want to meet you, of course," she continued. "In fact I would not be surprised if zat was ze reason for 'er visit…" She sighed again. "Come, we 'ad better get zis over wiz."

"I don't mind," Hermione replied, giving an encouraging smile. "I'm a big girl, Fleur."

"Just bear in mind zat she will probably size you up," the French girl said, shaking her head distractedly. "She might even make you sound like a piece of meat."

"…lovely."

Once inside the cool shade of the kitchen, and to Hermione's great surprise, Fleur quickly disapparated and almost instantly reappeared, now no longer carrying her sketchpad. Before the brunette could even ask why magic was needed for such a brief trip, she answered. "Ze stairs creak – Grandmere would not be 'appy if I did not immediately go to see 'er." Hermione nodded slowly, now rather nervous about meeting this woman. Would she really have reacted badly had Fleur made a brief detour to deposit her belongings? "Come, let us not keep 'er waiting," Fleur said, taking Hermione's hand in hers and leading her through the door, quickly directing her to the large sunlit lounge. Hermione had only seem the room briefly as they had passed it earlier; it was roughly the same size as the Delacours' dining room, with many large armchairs arranged around it, with the wall opposite the doorway dominated by a large fireplace. Though given the sweltering weather, the grate was of course dark and empty. Fleur's parents were sat together on a nearby sofa, and smiled brightly as the couple entered.

"Ah, zere you are," Apolline said. "We were beginning to zink you 'ad got lost in your own garden."

"Is zat why you sent Gabrielle out?" Fleur replied, quirking an eyebrow. "To find us?" Fleur's sister just stuck her tongue out from where she was seated opposite her parents.

"Ow long do I 'ave to wait for ma petite-fille to greet me, hm?" a new voice said, and with a great deal of surprise Hermione realised that the closest armchair – facing away from them – was occupied. Fleur shot the younger girl a look, before releasing her hand and stepping forward, into view of the chair's occupant.

"Pardonner moi, Grandmere," the blonde said, leaning down and kissing her grandmother on both cheeks. "I was not aware you were even coming 'ere until moments ago."

"Ha!" the eldest Delacour laughed, and Hermione briefly caught a glimpse of her head over the chair. "More like you were too preoccupied wiz your mate!" Fleur's cheeks turned an uncharacteristic shade of pink as she briefly glanced up at her girlfriend. "So, where is she? Where is my petit Fleur's chosen?"

"Here," Hermione said tentatively, stepping forward and smiling pleasantly. Fleur's grandmother was almost exactly how she pictured her; similar in appearance to Apolline and Fleur herself, but simply older. Clearly Veela genes were incredibly dominant, at least in terms of physical appearance. She seemed a little shorter than Apolline, but her position in the armchair made it difficult to discern. One thing that was definitely certain was that she shared Fleur's toothy grin, something very apparent as she smiled up at Hermione.

"So, _zis_ is 'Ermione Granger," the Veela said, rather obviously looking the brunette up and down. It really was as Fleur had predicted – Hermione felt as though she was being sized up. "Well, you could 'ave done worse, Fleur."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, and looked over at Fleur. The blonde was smiling, and the younger witch got the distinct impression that this was one of those 'from her, that is a compliment' situations. She turned back to Fleur's grandmother, who was still regarding her intently.

"Hm, 'er bosom is raz'er small."

**~xxx~**

"Well, that was quite possibly the most awkward dinner of my entire life," Hermione was saying that evening. She was lying upon Fleur's bed, staring up at the ceiling. "And I'm starting to think today should be named after my chest, with all the times it's being mentioned."

"In Grandmere's defence," Fleur began, chuckling to herself as she stepped out of the bathroom, having already changed into her nightdress. "It was you zat mentioned it earlier, not 'er."

"You're the one that decided to snog it," the brunette retorted, repressing a grin. Fleur rolled her eyes and sat upon the edge of the bed.

"And you are ze one 'oo was so willing to reveal all for ze sake of art," she said, flashing that wide grin of hers.

"Well…" Hermione murmured, blushing slightly. "It was a very nice drawing…"

"Zat it was, if I do say so myself," the blonde replied, tucking her legs up beneath her and flopping to the side, resting her head against the other girl's stomach. "But I 'ave to say, I still prefer ze real zing."

"You're too kind," the younger girl retorted waspishly. However, her smile quickly returned, and she gently wove her fingers into Fleur's hair. It was unusual for them to be in such a position; the blonde curled up atop the other girl, but it made a nice change. "There is one thing I wanted to ask you…"

"Oh?" Fleur tilted her head up. Hermione sighed and continued playing with the blonde's hair.

"Did you get the impression your grandmother thinks we've…you know…" she trailed off, cheeks reddening as the memories of the rather prying questions returned.

"Que signify- …oh!" Fleur lifted herself from Hermione, her own face a little pink. "You zink so?"

"Fleur, you haven't…" She paused for a moment. "…said anything, have you?"

"What are you implying?" the blonde asked, looking rather puzzled. "Zat I would lie to 'er about somez'ing so…intimate?"

"Well, she seemed very keen on us being together – that was nice, by the way – but I got the impression she thought we were…well…further along, shall we say."

"She is a Veela," Fleur replied, looking away for a moment. "You know 'ow sexual they-" She sighed. "-_we_…are…"

"Well yes, but does she really expect us to be doing that?" Hermione asked, her tone incredulous. "Does she even realise I'm only fifteen?"

"It is raz'er funny, really," the blonde said, smirking briefly. "Children often claim zey are old enough to do whatever zey want, and yet you so willingly restrain yourself."

"It has nothing to do with restraint," Hermione replied. "I just…I just want to be ready, is all…" Obviously sensing she had touched a nerve, Fleur's smile faded, and she shifted a little further up the bed, drawing level with the other girl.

"'Ermione, is some'zing wrong…?" she asked quietly. The younger girl looked up at her, watching those deep blue eyes regarding her carefully.

"No," the brunette sighed. "No, it's just…I know what you want, Fleur. And I know how much you want it. What am I saying? I want it too. But I want it to happen when the time is right."

"And so do I," Fleur replied. She gave a warm smile, and gently stroked a finger down Hermione's cheek. "You are still so young, mon amour; I do not want to force you to grow up faster than you 'ave to. Per'aps it is because my Veela blood is diluted, but I feel no compulsion to force you into anyz'ing. I zink ze two of us can admit to getting carried away every now and again – nude drawings aside – but I 'ardly zink we would be unable to stop ourselves. Like you, of course I want zings to go furz'er at some point, but only when we you are ready." She chuckled. "Besides, it is not as zough I am any more experienced zan you are."

"People think so," Hermione said, managing a small smile. "They think you've already had a string of lovers and are very experienced in the 'art of love'." She let out a small laugh, and Fleur just raised an eyebrow.

"'Ermione, I only turned eighteen last week," she replied incredulously. "You are ze only person I 'ave ever been wiz."

"Say 'and the only person I want to be with', and I'll hex you," the brunette snapped, giving the older girl a playful shove. "We're getting sappy again, Fleur."

"I am being romantic," the Frenchwoman replied, her smile widening. "And you are not allowed to use magic, so I believe am I quite safe." She paused for a moment. "'Ermione, did you bring your wand?"

"Oh, yes it's in my coat pocket," Hermione replied, gesturing at the garment, which was hanging alongside Fleur's own coat from a hook on the back of the door. "Why? As you so gleefully pointed out, I can't use it?"

"I want to try somez'ing," Fleur said, sliding off of the bed and retrieving her girlfriend's wand. She returned, this time properly lying beside the younger girl. She twirled it between her fingers, closely inspecting the intricate vine patterns that ran the length of it. "It really is a beautiful wand…"

"You _have_ seen it before," the brunette reminded her, but Fleur just continued smiling and observing the wand.

"I know, but…" The older girl paused for a moment, holding the wand steady, before giving it a gentle flick, sending several strands of silvery blue light from the tip. They hung in the air for a moment, before slowly dissipating. "Zey say zat couples are able to use each oz'er's wands almost as well as zeir own. Somez'ing to do wiz ze wand sharing ze loyalty and devotion of it's master." She smiled, holding the wand at arm's length. "It would seem to be ze case…"

"I'll have to try yours at some point," Hermione said, watching as Fleur casually levitated a nearby clock over their heads, slowly rotating as it went. The blonde shrugged.

"You could try it now, if you wanted," she said. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"You know I can't. The Trace-"

"Ze Trace?" Fleur interrupted, chuckling to herself. "Mon dieu, people are always so worried about ze trace! You do realise zey cannot even tell 'oo is using magic wiz ze Trace? Was 'Arry not wrongly accused of using magic when a spell was simply performed near 'im?"

"Well…yes," Hermione said. She didn't enjoy hearing rules picked apart like this; she got enough of that from Harry and Ron.

"Ze Trace only detects magic being used close to underage witches and wizards," Fleur said. "Ze French Ministry knows you are 'ere – 'ow are they to know it is not me using magic? Zis is ze 'ouse of a magical family, afterall."

"Well…be that as it may, it's the law," Hermione tried, but Fleur wasn't having any of it.

"Come now, do you really zink zere is a single witch or wizard zat 'as magical parents 'oo 'as not performed at least a few spells outside of school?" she asked, and Hermione knew there was no way out of this.

"Oh alright," she said. "One spell. Honestly, I think you're getting some weird kick out of this."

"Well of course I am," Fleur said, grinning widely. "It's like wearing each oz'er's cloz'es – oddly arousing."

"Swapping clothes would be less likely to get you expelled from school," Hermione muttered. "Alright, pass me your wand and we'll get this over with." Unsurprisingly, Fleur held Hermione's up and used it to levitate her own from her bedside table into the brunette's hand. "Thank you," she said, pausing to have a closer look at the wand itself. Befitting it's owner, Fleur's wand had a rather elegantly shaped handle, with what looked like leaves carved along most of it. It was surprisingly warm to the touch, just as Hermione's was. It felt almost…familiar, as if it were her own. She smiled.

"Well?" Fleur asked expectantly, watching her wand intently.

"Give me a moment," Hermione said. "We're not all blessed with your predilection to perfectly perform every spell non-verbally."

"As if you couldn't," the blonde replied fondly, earning a small blush from the other girl. Hermione concentrated hard for a moment, before giving the wand a quick wave, conjuring a shower of lilac sparks over them. Fleur watched happily, with an almost childlike glee. "Magnifique…"

"Hardly advanced," the brunette admitted. "But you're right: it feels very…cooperative. Almost the same as my own." She smiled. "But if it's all the same, I'd quite like to have my own back."

"Of course," Fleur replied with a grin. "Zough I was definitely right. It _was_ raz'er nice seeing you use it." They swapped wands, before both placing them on the two tables on either side of the bed. "'Ard to believe today was your first full day 'ere," the blonde mused after a few minutes of silence. "It already feels as zough you'ave been 'ere a while."

"Mmmm," Hermione responded, resting her head back down upon the pillow. "We seem to have that effect on each other." She turned to the side, facing the other girl. "It's almost like we weren't away from each other for those two weeks…"

"Hmm, two years we were parted, two months we 'id our relationship, zen two weeks parted again…" Fleur sighed, but Hermione just rolled her eyes again.

"Now you're pulling coincidences out of thin air," she muttered, earning a sly smile in response.

"I'm being romantic again," the part-Veela said, her smile widening into her usual toothy grin. "I don't see you doing ze same."

"If I give you a snog, will you stop being so irritating?"

**~xxx~**

The next day, Hermione was surprised to find a letter waiting for her at breakfast. She was curious as to who knew where to find her, but was rather unsurprised to discover that the letter was from Professor Dumbledore. What was surprising was the content of his message; he first wished her an enjoyable holiday, and then went on to request that she refrain from informing Harry of any news she may read in the papers over the Summer. He gave no explanation, and she couldn't even find any clues as to exactly why the headmaster wanted Harry to go without updates on what was happening in the wake of Voldemort's return. He finished by asking her to pass on his regards to Fleur, and his hopes that the two of them continued to be happy together. All in all, it was a rather baffling message, but what really confused Hermione was it's appearance that morning – why had it not been sent as soon as she had returned home from Hogwarts? How did Dumbledore know she hadn't already sent Harry any messages? Truth be told, she had in fact been planning to do exactly that the very morning Dumbledore's letter arrived. The man really was scary sometimes.

Either way, she had no choice but to abide by his request. She didn't know his reasons, but she was sure he must have them. She wasn't happy about it; after all, Harry needed updating on current events now more than ever. Hermione had already seen reports of several unexplained disappearances in the newspaper, and Harry would probably want to know. However, Dumbledore knew best - at least that is what she told herself - and he was still her headmaster. Hermione felt rather guilty, picturing Harry alone with the Dursleys, miserable and without anything other than the vague message she had sent, while she herself was quite literally frolicking in the sun with her girlfriend. Still, Fleur was right with what she said later that same day – Hermione being unhappy wouldn't help Harry in any way, and so, with admittedly diminishing guilt, Hermione returned her focus to her girlfriend.

The Summer days were long, and the nights warm. Hermione couldn't remember a time that she had been so content, even while at Hogwarts with Fleur. Here, they were free to do as they pleased, whenever they pleased. They roamed the grounds during the day, sometimes heading down to the town over which the Delacour Estate stood. And in the evenings, in trips that would become something of a ritual for them, they walked along the deserted beach, hand in hand. They watched the sunset almost every evening, before heading back up to the mansion. In short, everything was perfect. It wasn't just the time they were able to spend together; it was knowing that they would be able to do the same thing the next day. There was no rush to do anything, or any need to cram as much activity in as they could. Fleur's family sometimes laughed at how they were able to spend entire days doing absolutely nothing other than smiling at each other and exchanging gentle kisses, but they let them laugh, and sometimes even did the same.

After two weeks of bliss, they inevitably came to their final day. Hermione had been in frequent contact with her parents, and they had arranged a suitable date for their return to England. It left them with just over a month until the start of term, as Hermione was anticipating another invitation to stay with the Weasleys. She hadn't asked about Fleur being allowed to accompany her, but decided that in hindsight, she didn't much care; if Fleur wasn't welcome, then she would much prefer to just stay with her parents and girlfriend. On their final evening in France, as they enjoyed the sunset from the beach one last time, things became a little heated. Hermione didn't know exactly how they had ended up naked in the sand, their hands tangled into each other's hair; all she knew was that if the sea hadn't started lapping at their feet, they might well have gone further than they had intended. She wasn't quite sure how to feel about the fact that they had been interrupted. Half-relieved that such an important moment had not occurred so soon, especially after the conversation she and Fleur had had on the subject, and yet somewhat regretful – had they not been alerted to the outside world, neither of them would have stopped – and she would have been quite alright with that.

As they lay together in Fleur's bed later that night, Hermione wondered just what she had done to deserve this positively angelic girl; so full of life and laughter. Again, she decided to ignore the 'why', and simply focus on the fact that it was real. Fleur Delacour was hers, and she was never going to let her go.


	7. On The Horizon

**Harry Potter and all related characters and places are owned by JK Rowling - I just make them dance for my own amusement.**

**Note to self: never ever say the next chapter will be up soon. It seems to be a curse of sorts. That said, there is a very good reason for why this chapter has been delayed. Put simply - I was in France for two weeks! And no, I'm not going to say that this has given me a better grasp on writing French characters and about the country itself. Why? Because it's the eleventh time I've been there, of course!**

**For those keeping tabs on the fic's place in canon, this is the final chapter before we really get into Order of the Phoenix.  
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**~xxx~**

The next morning, Fleur and Hermione woke together and rose almost immediately. They both seemed to be thinking the same thing – last night had been so perfect, it was best to leave that as their last intimate act before leaving for England. Still, that didn't stop Hermione from rather unashamedly watching Fleur get dressed. For her part, the French witch made a point of pausing to stretch, giving the brunette a decidedly prolonged view of her bare back. Hermione had to wonder whether they would even be able to get away with something as simple as this; just how strict were her parents going to be about what they were and weren't allowed to do? Much as it irked her, she didn't blame them, especially given how well they had accepted the fact that she was going out with a girl – two years her senior, no less. Perhaps it was simply because Fleur was female; it wouldn't be unusual for two girls to share a bed and see each other unclothed: but Fleur wasn't just a female friend. To understand her parents' perspective, she decided it would probably make more sense to imagine Fleur was a man, as then it _did_ seem rather different. The brunette wondered if she should try to play the gender card and argue that they should be allowed to share her bed, but her logical side demanded that she play it safe.

Fleur had mentioned a few times that she desperately wanted to make a good impression on her girlfriend's parents, and seemed to have been devoting a great deal of thought to exactly what she should say, do, and even wear. It made Hermione smile – the blonde had decided to completely abandon her previous 'character' and simply be herself, and yet ironically this was the most conscious she had ever seen the part-Veela behaving over how she was seen by other people. She couldn't really identify with her, either, as her own first meeting with Fleur's parents had been something of a complete surprise – she hadn't had time to become nervous about it.

Regardless, it was too late to dwell on it now. They had arranged to return to Hermione's house before lunchtime, and due to their rather single-minded activities the previous day, they had yet to pack. After two weeks, Fleur's room had definitely become Hermione's as well; books were scattered about the place, as were several loose pieces of parchment, a couple of ink bottles, and a few blunted quills. Fleur had joked that she had expected Hermione to be tidier, but the brunette was well aware that left to her own devices, she existed in a sort of organised chaos – her possessions in a total mess, but the location of each clearly filed away in her mind. She gathered them together while Fleur magically packed her own belongings, having decided to take her now ex-school trunk, as she would be staying abroad for the foreseeable future. Rather unable to believe she hadn't asked it beforehand, Hermione had only a few days previously enquired as to exactly where her girlfriend would be staying once she started her job at Gringotts. Fleur rather nonchalantly explained that she would look into finding a place while she was staying with Hermione, as her family's wealth made cost and the short notice a non-issue. It was a brief return to the almost snobbish attitude she had displayed at Hogwarts, but rather bizarrely Hermione didn't mind, instead finding that she had become strangely fond of the part-Veela's defence mechanism, despite her insistence that it was going to stop – another stark reminder of just how hard she had fallen for the blonde.

"It is strange…" Fleur remarked, once her trunk was packed and sitting by the door. By this point, her room was looking rather bare. "I feel as zough I should be sadder zan I am to be leaving my family…"

"I get the same thing before I go back to Hogwarts," Hermione said, sitting upon the edge of the bed. "So eager to go, you almost feel guilty."

"Oui, zat is it exactly," the blonde replied with a nod. "No more Beauxbatons, no more classes, no more exams…" She gave a small smirk. "Zough I believe ze lack of regret is more 'oo I am travelling wiz zan where I am going."

"Now how did I know you were going to say something like that?" the younger witch said, shaking her head fondly.

"Ahhh, but you know me so well, ma cheri," Fleur said, stepping over to the bed and sitting beside her girlfriend. She placed an arm around the brunette and rested her head against her shoulder, her silvery hair spilling across it. "As long as you are zere, I do not mind where I am."

"I'll hold you to that," Hermione teased, shooting the taller girl an amused look. "When we get our own place and you complain about something."

"Zinking about ze future, are we?" the blonde chuckled, but Hermione gave an earnest nod.

"Well there's no point pretending it isn't what we intend to happen, is there?" she asked. "You read all these stories where couples confess their undying love for each other, but still act as though their futures are uncertain and all that." She gave a shrug. "You and I will be together for the rest of our lives, that's all there is to it. We'll get a house together, get married, and that's that."

"Well…" Fleur began, looking somewhat surprised. "You are certainly more confident zan you used to be."

"Just realistic," Hermione said, turning away to hide the slight blush that was now warming her face. "It took me nearly all year to accept that you truly wanted to be with me, but after everything we've said and everything we've done, it would be naïve to still worry. You were confident about us from day one, so why shouldn't I be?"

"Mmmm…" Fleur leant closer, smiling widely. "I am so glad to 'ear you say zat…" She placed a gentle kiss upon the brunette's neck, only pulling away an inch so she could whisper to her. "And did you mention marriage, mon amour? A little early to be zinking of such zings, hm?"

"I know perfectly well that you've dreamt about it on more than one occasion," Hermione replied, carefully keeping her voice steady as the part-Veela's warm breath tickled her. "Unless you were exchanging vows with another Hermione Granger the other night."

"First you accuse me of snoring, now you say I talk in my sleep?" the blonde asked dangerously. "I zink someone is asking for trouble…"

"Do your worst, Delacour," the bushy-haired girl said, slowly turning to face the blonde and smirking. "I'm not afraid of you."

When Apolline arrived to make sure the two girls were getting ready, she didn't even bother asking why Fleur was straddling the younger witch's stomach while simultaneously kissing and tickling her.

**~xxx~**

Half an hour later, the pair were downstairs and awaiting Fleur's parents joining them. Much to her irritation, Apolline had again reminded Fleur that despite her now being able to apparate, she was still unfamiliar with Hermione's house, and therefore unable to take Hermione back herself. The brunette mused that it was somewhat akin to having a driver's license and no car, but this just gained her a baffled look from the part-Veela. Before long, they were all ready. Fleur had magically miniaturised her trunk, which was now safely stored in her pocket. Hermione had always wanted to try that with her own, but of course not being allowed to use magic before and after the school term made this a bit of an issue. As they gathered together, Hermione noticed Gabrielle was sat at the bottom of the stairs, looking oddly subdued.

"Gabrielle?" Fleur asked, crouching down in front of her sister. "Is somez'ing wrong?"

"Je ne veux pas vous partir," the younger blonde mumbled, letting out a quiet sob and staring at her feet. Fleur sighed and gently placed a hand upon her sister's shoulder.

"I 'ave to," she replied. "You have to be ze big girl now, hm? And big girls don't cry." Despite her words, Hermione was sure her girlfriend's voice was close to cracking. She watched, feeling rather awkward, as the sisters embraced each other tightly. "Au revoir, ma petite soeur…"

They parted after a few moments, but Gabrielle still held onto Fleur's arms. She leant around her sister to look up at Hermione. "You look after 'er," she said. The brunette nodded and smiled.

"I intend to," she said. Satisfied, the youngest Delacour allowed her sister to stand and moved back to the others.

"Now zen," Apolline began, looking down at her daughter's trunk. "Are you sure you 'ave everyz'ing?"

"Quite sure," Fleur replied. "If I find anyz'ing is missing, I will owl you." Her mother nodded, and gave a brief smile. Just as with Fleur, Hermione got the distinct impression that Apolline was getting rather emotional.

"I am so proud of you, Fleur," she said, looking her daughter up and down. Fleur herself looked rather embarrassed, and glanced away.

"Please, not in front of 'Ermione," the part-Veela said, and her mother laughed.

"Oh very well zen," Apolline chuckled. "Let us be off."

Apparating back to England was much the same as Hermione's outgoing trip. They briefly stopped off near the French coast for safety reasons, before finally appearing in a deserted path between two houses. The first thing Hermione noticed once the slight dizziness had worn off was the cold; the sky was a uniform grey. It was a far cry from the weather they had been having in France, but she wasn't surprised – the British summertime had a habit of behaving more like winter. After a brief farewell to Fleur's parents, they both disapparated, leaving Fleur and Hermione alone.

"So," Fleur began, smiling brightly. "Which way is your house?"

"This way," Hermione said, sounding rather distracted as she pointed down the pathway. "Fleur, I'm sorry that was so rushed. I've been so preoccupied with you getting to meet my parents that I almost forgot you won't be seeing your own for quite some time."

"Zink noz'ing of it," the blonde replied, shaking her head. "Ze worst part was when I first told zem I intended to move 'ere. By now, zey are used to ze idea." She smiled again. "Really, do not worry yourself. Zis is meant to be a 'appy occasion, oui?"

"True," the brunette managed, finally smiling in return. "Well then, let's get going."

Despite it being a completely normal, uninteresting muggle street, Fleur seemed surprisingly interested in their surroundings. Perhaps it was simply because this was where Hermione had grown up – the part-Veela had always had a fascination with her girlfriend's upbringing, even if she was still rather baffled by many muggle customs. Before too much longer, a familiar front door came into view, and Hermione found herself becoming increasingly nervous. While her parents were of course keen to meet Fleur, she was well aware that they most likely wouldn't take so kindly to the two of them rolling around kissing all day, as they had spent much of the past two weeks doing. The blonde seemed to notice this, and turned to her as they paused at the end of the house's front path.

"'Ermione?" she asked, watching the younger witch curiously.

"Hm?" the brunette murmured, blinking. "Oh, sorry. Just a little nervous."

"If anyone is to be nervous, it is I," Fleur said, looking up at the house. "Do you 'onestly zink zey will like me?"

"Well, they did say you were very helpful when you met before," Hermione pointed out, but her joke didn't seem to lighten Fleur's mood.

"Zat was for ten seconds and I did not even know 'oo zey were," the part-Veela reminded her. "Zis is very different."

"Fleur, they'll adore you," Hermione insisted, her tone becoming serious. "Trust me."

"You are 'ardly unbiased when it comes to your opinion of me," Fleur said, but cracked a small smile. "But enough talk; I am ready."

Hermione nodded, and after giving the other girl's hand a gentle squeeze, headed down the path to her front door. Letting Fleur go, she slowly opened the front door. It felt strange; almost as though she were sneaking in to her own house. She had almost expected her parents to be waiting outside, given how eager they had seemed to see her again when they last spoke on the phone, but as she stepped into the hallway, she saw no one.

"Hello?" she called, nodding at Fleur who seemed unsure as to whether she should shut the door behind her.

"Hermione?" her mother's voice called from the kitchen. There was a moment's pause, before Mrs Granger stepped into view and immediately pulled her daughter into a tight hug. "Oh how are you?" she asked, squeezing Hermione tightly.

"I'm fine, Mum," the brunette laughed, returning the hug. "Honestly, it's not like I've been back to Hogwarts for another year."

"No but we still missed you," her mother insisted, smiling brightly. "And you've got a tan!"

"_Barely_," Hermione clarified. "Remember, I don't tan – I just burn."

"Well you look lovely anyway," Mrs Granger said with a laugh. And finally, she took her eyes off her daughter, looking at the newcomer for the first time. Fleur seemed to look rather small, standing a little behind Hermione. Her hands were folded in front of her, and she was smiling nervously. "And this must be Fleur…"

Hermione stepped to the side, her eyes flitting between the two of them. "Oui," the blonde answered, seemingly regaining some of her composure. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you." The brunette wondered whether her girlfriend would go for the traditional French greeting, but instead the part-Veela raised a hand and shook Mrs Granger's, who seemed rather impressed at the Frenchwoman's manners.

"Likewise," she replied, smiling warmly. "Hermione has told us so much about you."

"Likewise," Fleur repeated, glancing at her girlfriend for a moment. "I 'ave to zank you for allowing me to stay; I understand zat zis came as somez'ing of a shock to you."

"Ah, yes, well…" Hermione's mother trailed off for a moment, briefly looking at her daughter. "Our Hermione doesn't do anything unless she is absolutely sure." She smiled again. "Besides, having a witch for a daughter does alter your priorities somewhat."

"I knew zat 'ooever brought up such a wonderful girl would 'ave to be at least as kind as she is," Fleur said with a nod. "I am glad to see I was not wrong."

"Where's Dad?" the brunette asked curiously, peering over her mother's shoulder. Mrs Granger glanced back into the kitchen for a moment.

"He's in the shed…" she replied, and Hermione was distinctly aware that her mother's voice sounded a little strained. "He's…um…showing Ron's father the lawnmower."

"Mr Weasley?" Hermione asked, exchanging a look of shock with her girlfriend. "What's he doing here?"

"He arrived about half an hour ago," Mrs Granger explained. "Said he needed to speak directly to you." She sighed. "I don't know what it's about; I'm surprised he didn't just send you a letter. In any case, you two go and get settled in the lounge, and I'll fetch them."

She turned on her heel and headed back into the kitchen, before the sound of the back door was heard. Fleur and Hermione exchanged confused glances again, before the brunette led the part-Veela to the living room. "What's Mr Weasley doing turning up at my house unannounced?" she asked as she sat down on the settee, and motioned for Fleur to do the same. "And how did he even know we were coming back today?"

"Noz'ing to do but wait for him to explain," the blonde replied, sounding perturbed. "It is raz'er strange."

"And a little worrying," Hermione murmured. "This isn't exactly how I'd planned on showing you the house."

"Do not worry, cheri," Fleur said, forcing a smile. "We 'ave plenty of time."

After a few minutes of Fleur clearly restraining herself from pointing out the various photographs of Hermione as a child around the room, Arthur Weasley appeared, followed by both of Hermione's parents. Mr Granger and Fleur exchanged smiles of greeting, but remained silent for the time being. "Good morning!" Mr Weasley said enthusiastically. "Hermione, Fleur, good to see you again."

"You too," Hermione replied, still sounding rather bemused.

"You're no doubt wondering why I'm here," Mr Weasley continued; the looks on the girls' faces said it all. "Unfortunately, it's to do with the events of last month." He looked up at Hermione's parents. "I assume Hermione has told you what transpired."

"…no?" Mrs Granger replied, frowning at her daughter. "Hermione, what happened?"

"I…" the brunette began, but sighed and looked away. "I…I should have told you from the start…" She shifted uncomfortably, and almost jumped when she felt Fleur's hand close around her own. However, Mr Weasley ended up answering for her.

"It would appear that the Dark Lord has returned," he said, his normally cheerful face now grim. Hermione's parents looked at each other.

"Dark Lord?" Mr Granger repeated. "You mean…oh, what was his name…?"

"It doesn't matter," Mr Weasley cut in rather quickly, shaking his head. "What does matter is that now Hermione is back in the country, she is a potential target."

"Target?" Mrs Granger said, sounding aghast. "For what? Why?"

"Because of Harry," Hermione said, finding her voice again. "You-Know-Who is almost certainly after Harry, and it's entirely possible that he or his followers could come after me to get to him." She was a little startled with herself at how formally she had managed to say it; no different to reading a passage from a book.

"Exactly," Mr Weasley said with a nod. Hermione was unable to look at her parents; she knew how horrified they must have felt.

"But why Hermione?" her mother asked, her voice rather shaky. "Why would anyone want to hurt our Hermione?"

"It is complicated," Mr Weasley replied, smiling sadly. "As these things always are…" He turned to the Grangers. "You don't need to know all the details, but-"

"You're damn right we don't," Mr Granger interrupted angrily. "Hermione is our daughter: that is all we need to know. Now, you're saying there are people out there that want to harm her? Just what in God's name is going on out there?"

Mr Weasley was silent for a moment, and let out a quiet sigh. "I wish I knew," he said eventually. "But what I do know is that it is no longer safe for Hermione – or Fleur, for that matter – to remain unprotected like this."

"She has us," Mr Granger began, but his wife placed a hand upon his shoulder.

"Dear, Arthur is right," she said, clearly fighting to keep her voice calm. "If what they're saying is true, what good can we hope to do?"

"But-"

"Dad, Mum's right," Hermione said. "There's not much you could do against a group of Death Eaters."

"'Death Eaters?' What are Death Eaters?" her mother asked.

"That is what the Dark Lord's followers call themselves," Mr Weasley explained, though Hermione's parents didn't seem very grateful for the information.

"Hermione, why didn't you tell us any of this?" Mr Granger asked, looking down at his daughter. The brunette had her eyes fixed firmly ahead, refusing to meet her parents eyes. "Hermione, look at us when we're talking to you."

She had never heard her parents sound so angry. Swallowing uncomfortably, and tightening her grip on Fleur's hand, Hermione turned to the side and regarded her parents nervously. Both of them were looking at her with prying eyes, and finally, she opened her mouth to speak. "I lied, alright?" she admitted. "Because I enjoyed it. I could pretend…just for a moment, I could pretend that everything was normal. I was so worried that you would hate me for being with Fleur that I didn't dare tell you about what happened. I had to choose – I couldn't drop both of them on you at the same time, and I…" She sighed quietly. "…I wanted more than anything for you to know about Fleur…to pretend the biggest problems I had were relationship ones…"

"Hermione, this is serious," her mother said, not sounding entirely unsympathetic. "You know you didn't need to worry so much about us finding out you were with a girl, especially when compared to _this_."

"What now, then?" Mr Granger asked. "What do we do now?"

"It is our belief," Mr Weasley began, having remained silence for some time now. "That Hermione and Fleur would be far safer under our protection. We have a safehouse that we are currently using – right now it's probably the most protected building in the entire country, besides Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts isn't in this country," Hermione pointed out. There was a momentary pause, and then to her great surprise, Fleur burst into a fit of laughter, looking incredulously at her girlfriend. Mr and Mrs Granger exchanged looks for a moment, and both couldn't help but smile.

"Well…no, I suppose it isn't," Mr Weasley admitted. Hermione looked around, rather baffled at the reactions her words had gained.

"What?" she asked. "It's not."

"Oh Hermione…" her mother mused, shaking her head. "Some things about you never change…"

"…anyway," Mr Weasley continued. "I think it would be best if Hermione and Fleur were to accompany me back there now. Professor Dumbledore himself requested it."

"Mr Weasley…" the brunette said rather quietly. "…we only got back today…do you think you could take us there tomorrow?" The redheaded man looked a little puzzled. "It's just Fleur hasn't really properly met my parents yet," she explained. "And who knows when we'll get another chance?"

"I…suppose one night couldn't hurt," he said, giving a small smile. "Very few people know you are even back yet; I only knew because of Dumbledore."

"You were right," Fleur muttered. "Zat man really is quite scary…"

"Tomorrow, then?" Mr Weasley said, nodding at Hermione's parents. "About the same time, if that is suitable?"

"That will be fine, Arthur, thank you," Mrs Granger said, smiling. "I suppose we should thank you for your visit."

"I do wish it was under better circumstances," the wizard replied, shaking his head sadly. But then he paused, and perked up. "…you don't think I could take one more look at that lawnmower, do you?"

A short while later, Mr Weasley had disapparated, leaving the Grangers and Fleur alone in the living room. Hermione had gone back to staring at the wall, rather afraid of what her parents would say now that their guest was gone. She was so used to Fleur's presence that she didn't even really see her as a visitor in the house, but her mother clearly thought otherwise.

"Well then," she began, getting to her feet. "Perhaps we had better start again, hm?"

"Mum. I'm sorry-" Hermione started, but was cut off.

"No not that," she snapped, waving her hand. "I believe you have someone who needs properly introducing to us?"

**~xxx~**

Later that night, Hermione was rather surprised to find herself laying in her bed, partially atop her blonde girlfriend. After everything else that had been discussed that night, her parents didn't seem at all bothered by the two of them sharing; something she was incredibly grateful for. She shifted slightly and nuzzled Fleur's neck gently.

"I told you they would love you," she said quietly, earning a smile from the part-Veela.

"Eiz'er zat or your moz'er was attempting to murder me wiz all zat food," she replied, inhaling deeply as she stretched her legs out. "Zis is nearly as bad as ze time we ate zat Easter egg…"

"Don't remind me," Hermione groaned. "I honestly thought we were going to explode that day."

"You are full of lovely mental images, 'Ermione," Fleur muttered, pulling a face. Hermione smiled widely, before slowly allowing it to fade.

"I'm…sorry, you had to go through all that earlier," she said. "I should have told them sooner."

"I do not mind," the blonde said, shaking her head. "What's done is done, and in ze end I still got to spend a lovely meal getting to know your parents."

"I just wish you had as long as I did with yours," Hermione said.

"I will do," Fleur insisted. "I am not going anywhere, and once all zis 'orrible business is over wiz, I promise we will make up for lost time."

"You really think it will all be over that quickly?" the brunette asked, looking up into her girlfriend's deep blue eyes, still visible in the faint glow of the nearby streetlamp filtering in through her curtains.

"We can but 'ope, non?" Fleur said with a shrug. "Zere is no point worrying when zere is noz'ing we can do right now. What will come will come…"

"Now you sound like Harry," Hermione teased. Fleur's eyebrows shot up in a look of mock-surprise.

"I zink you will find zat I am much better looking zan 'Arry," she said hotly. "Not to mention…" A devilish smile spread across her face. "…a great deal more kissable, non?"

"One of these days, you'll ask for a kiss in a normal way."


	8. Pour Vous

**Harry Potter and all related characters and places are owned by JK Rowling - I just make them dance for my own amusement.**

**Surprise! Well, you guys put up with a very long wait for the last chapter, so I felt you deserved a little treat. This chapter was an absolute joy to write, so I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.  
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**~xxx~**

When she woke up the following morning, Hermione silently mused at just how many different beds she had woken up alongside Fleur in. The sky outside was still dim, and she was vaguely aware of birdsong outside. The house was silent; obviously her parents were still asleep. Glad to have the time for a lay-in, she turned her attention back to her girlfriend. The blonde seemed to have managed to curl up while still holding onto the younger girl, and as Hermione shifted a bit, she was met with those startlingly blue eyes. The part-Veela smiled and let out a quiet murmur, pulling her girlfriend towards her.

"Looks like someone slept well," Hermione said, propping her head up with one arm. "And if you dare say it's because I was next to you, I'm kicking you out of this bed."

"Ohhh mon amour, why do you 'ate it so when I am being romantic, hm?" the blonde whined, tilting her own head to get a better look at the other girl. "Would you prefer it if I just remained silent?"

"Don't you dare," the bushy-haired girl said, leaning a little closer. "You know I love your voice…"

"Now 'oo is being romantic?" Fleur teased, before finally bringing their lips together.

They were treated to a rather interesting breakfast; Hermione's parents were clearly trying to make Fleur feel comfortable, and had bought a variety of French pastries. The blonde seemed quite satisfied with her croissant; even more so when Hermione had the same, saying she had become rather used to it while staying with the Delacour family. In fact, Fleur's family was the topic of discussion that morning, with Hermione's parents seeming very interested in finding out more about their daughter's girlfriend. The brunette was pleased to see them getting along famously; her parents even laughed at all of Fleur's amusing anecdotes about her own parents and sister.

Not wanting to waste the short time they all had together, they spent almost the entire morning in the living room, as they had done the day before after Mr Weasley had left, recounting their time together right from the beginning. If Hermione's parents had any reservations about her relationship with the part-Veela, they were definitely all gone by now. She had got the impression her father was a little apprehensive, especially when he had learnt of Fleur's Veela heritage – clearly distracted by mental images of his potential daughter-in-law transforming into a monstrous bird creature – but after interacting with her at length, he seemed just as taken with her as his wife did. After they had had a bite to eat, Fleur offered to help Mr Granger wash up, leaving Hermione's side for the first time since she had arrived. Alone with her mother, the brunette gave a slightly embarrassed smile.

"So…" she began rather nervously. "What do you think?"

"Oh Hermione, she's lovely," her mother replied, keep her voice down but smiling widely. "I can see why you were so taken with her now."

The younger Granger blushed slightly and nodded. "I don't know what I'd do without her," she said. "I didn't think I'd ever come to rely so much on someone, but now…" She shook her head and smiled. "…I love her, plain and simple."

"Well, you certainly have our blessing," Mrs Granger said. "I would say I hope you stay together, but I don't think there's any danger of that not happening – the way you two look at each other…"

"Fleur does make me behave in a rather embarrassing way, I know," Hermione admitted with a smile. "I used to laugh at couples that behaved like this."

"Things always seem different when they're happening to you," her mother replied kindly. "And as I always told you – what other people think doesn't matter; as long as you're happy."

"Oh I'm certainly happy," the brunette said, briefly biting her bottom lip as her smile grew.

"Are you going to be okay going back to Hogwarts?" Mrs Granger asked. "If you even go back – what with all this awful business you say is going on."

"I'll definitely be going back," Hermione replied, her tone becoming somewhat serious. "Hogwarts is the safest place I could be. With everything that's happening, the last thing Professor Dumbledore would do is close the school." She sighed, but then smiled again. "But…yes, it is going to be strange going back without Fleur."

"She could stay here, you know," her mother said. "It'd be easier than her finding her own place, and we'd be happy to have her. That is of course if they don't want to keep her at this safehouse Arthur mentioned."

"I imagine once Harry is back at Hogwarts, it will be safer for everyone else," Hermione said. "At least for a while. Still, I'll definitely mention it – I'm sure she's going to be ecstatic that you're so keen on her."

"As far as I'm concerned, she's already part of the family," Mrs Granger said with a wide smile. Hermione was touched by her mother's words, but did briefly wonder if she would be so enthusiastic if she knew how close her daughter and Fleur had come to taking their relationship a step further. Still, the brunette was hardly going to tell her, so it was a non-issue. As she pondered her mother's words, Hermione mused that it was a rather strange for her to say given that she and Fleur were only going out, but just like her daughter, Mrs Granger seemed to be being realistic – the two young witches were utterly inseparable, and assuredly going to remain that way.

A short while later, Fleur and Mr Granger returned. The blonde casually flopped onto the settee beside Hermione, snaking an arm around the other girl's shoulders and pulling her a little closer. Hermione was well aware of her parents' amused expressions, and made a point of avoiding their eyes.

"Fleur was telling me about her father's classic car collection," Mr Granger said, nodding at the blonde. "I'd love to see it some time."

"Really?" Hermione asked, turning to her girlfriend. "You didn't mention that."

"Oui," the French witch nodded. 'E is not as…obsessive, as Monsieur Weasley, but 'e 'as a bit of an interest in zose machines."

"I did wonder why the mansion had a driveway," the brunette mused, and Fleur chuckled.

"Maman does not let 'im drive zem after 'e nearly backed one into ze 'ouse," she said, still laughing at the memory. "Now zey are just for display only. Probably for ze best."

"They don't fly, do they?" Mr Granger asked. Fleur stopped laughing, and looked puzzled.

"Fly…?" she repeated slowly, her brow furrowed. Now it was Hermione's turn to laugh.

"Mr Weasley enchanted his car to fly," she explained. "Long story short, Harry and Ron ended up flying it from London to Hogwarts, and crashed it into the Whomping Willow."

"I imagine ze tree did not take so kindly to zat?" Fleur asked, smirking. She was well aware of the Willow's nature, having become very familiar with Hogwarts' grounds during her stay there.

"No it did not," Hermione said flatly, rolling her eyes. Truth be told, she was starting to miss her friends and their antics. Not that Fleur wasn't more than enough company, but she still wondered what the other two were doing; particularly Harry, having gone without a scrap of news. She had told him plainly in her first letter that Dumbledore had instructed her to not say much, citing security reasons. She doubted he would be happy, especially after receiving several messages from her now, each just as vague as the last. As the four of them continued talking, Hermione settled back into Fleur's arms and relaxed, simply enjoying spending these last few hours with her family, and revelling in the fact that the blonde was now considered part of it.

**~xxx~**

When Mr Weasley arrived, Fleur and Hermione were already ready, sat at the bottom of the stairs with their miniaturised trunks beside them. Fleur hadn't even unpacked her belongings, but Hermione had had to spend a while sorting out her Hogwarts trunk. It had sat mostly untouched since last year, and was in desperate need of a tidy. Mr Weasley had never explicitly said they were going to the Burrow, nor that they would be there until the start of term, but it was more than likely – meaning the brunette had to pack for the year ahead. Fleur just remained laying on her front upon Hermione's bed, watching with amusement as the brunette decided what should go where and making sure she left room for whatever new schoolbooks she would need to purchase before term. In fact, aside from tying her hair up into a ponytail again, Fleur had done absolutely nothing that morning. After spending so long over the holidays being relaxed and laid back, the part-Veela seemed to have enjoyed the return of her girlfriend's organised side. Crookshanks, meanwhile, was sat in his basket, looking thoroughly fed up and grumpy.

"Everything ready?" Mr Weasley asked pleasantly as the two witches got to their feet. They both nodded, and pulled their coats on. "I'll be taking you one at a time, just to be on the safe side."

"You be careful," Mrs Granger said, looking at both Hermione and Fleur in turn. "And Hermione, have a good year at school."

"I'll write to you before we leave for King's Cross," the brunette said. "And when I arrive at Hogwarts."

"Good," her mother replied. "And Fleur, if you ever need anything, don't hesitate to ask – you're always welcome here."

"Merci," the blonde said with a polite nod. "And zank you for being so good to me, even if my stay was raz'er brief. I am glad we 'ad ze chance to get to know each oz'er."

"You too," Mr Granger replied. "It's good to know Hermione has someone looking out for her."

"Always," the part-Veela said seriously, glancing at the girl beside her. "She will come to no 'arm so long as I still breaz'e."

Hermione would have argued that she was perfectly capable of defending herself, but she didn't want to shoot Fleur down after such a heartfelt declaration. Instead, she hugged each of her parents in turn, before stepping back and resisting a grin as Fleur did the same; seeing her girlfriend, who for so long she had been afraid of revealing, embracing her parents as though they were her own would have probably brought her to the verge of tears had Mr Weasley not been standing right beside her.

All too soon, their goodbyes were finished, and the Grangers stepped back, their faces full of mixed emotions. Fleur was the first to go, holding onto Mr Weasley's arm and after a moment, vanishing into thin air with a whooshing sound. There was a momentary silence, during which Hermione exchanged one final look with her parents, before Mr Weasley reappeared alone, and held out his arm for Hermione. Taking a deep breath, she made sure the cat basket beneath her arm was secure. She stepped forward, took hold of the man, and before she could blink she was apparating away from her parents and house for another year.

**~xxx~**

When the world stopped spinning, Hermione stumbled for a moment, finding herself standing upon freshly cut, slightly damp grass. Crookshanks let out a loud hiss from his basket; clearly apparating did not agree with cats. Hermione turned her head upwards, and saw that she appeared to be in what looked like a small park, surrounded by terraced housing. She guessed that they had apparated here due to the cover provided by the nearby trees. A quick examination of the names on a nearby sign told her she was somewhere in London. Just as it had been at her own home, the sky was grey and overcast; judging by the grass, it had recently been raining. Startled that she hadn't thought to check immediately, she looked around for Fleur. Mr Weasley was of course right beside her, but it wasn't until she looked behind her that she saw a familiar blonde head. The part-Veela seemed to be attempting to get her bearings as well, as she too was looking around at the buildings. She turned, and smiled at Hermione, stepping a little closer.

"Where are we?" Hermione asked, turning to the redheaded man. "I thought we were going to the Burrow."

"Not this year," Mr Weasley said, setting off towards a low gate in the fence surrounding the park. "We suggested it, but Dumbledore decided this was a better location."

"For what?" Fleur asked. Hermione was distinctly aware of the slight irritation in her girlfriend's voice; clearly she wasn't fond of being kept in the dark.

"You'll see," Mr Weasley replied simply, stepping out into the road beside the park. "Keep up." Exchanging a baffled look with Fleur, Hermione followed the man into the middle of the road, where he was standing facing the houses opposite. "Now then, both of you read this and memorise it." He pulled a piece of parchment from his jacket pocket, and handed it to Hermione. She held it up so Fleur could see as well, and read it.

'_The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.'_

"Fleur, could you burn that please?" Mr Weasley asked. The blonde raised an eyebrow, but did as instructed. As subtly as she could, given that they were in the middle of a street in broad daylight, she touched her wand tip to the parchment, and dropped it to the ground, as it blackened and disintegrated. "Now then, focus on what you just read."

Deciding not to question just what the purpose of all this was, Hermione mentally recited the parchment's words, and was rather startled by a sudden rumbling sound coming from the houses in front of them. She glanced at Fleur, who still looked just as confused as she felt, before looking back up the houses. To her astonishment, an entire extra house seemed to be sliding out of the one beside it, pushing the entire row down the road. And then she realised – the houses that had been there were numbers eleven and thirteen. She must have subconsciously assumed the street used an alternating number system and not noticed that number twelve had been completely missing. Now, however, it stood in it's rightful place. The brickwork was slightly darker than the houses on either side of it; clearly the others had been faded by sunlight while number twelve had not, for obvious reasons.

"Here we are, then," Mr Weasley said brightly, stepping up the steps to the front door and tapping it with his wand. Desperately wanting to ask just how the Muggles living on either side wouldn't notice an entire house appearing out of nowhere, Hermione followed Mr Weasley up to the door as it opened with several loud clunks. She waited for him to enter, but he stood still. There was a moment's pause, before he seemed to realise they were waiting for him.

"Oh, no, sorry," he said, shaking his head and smiling apologetically. "I'm due back at the office in a bit. Just go in and down the hallway; Molly will be waiting for you."

"Okay," Hermione replied, smiling. "Thanks for bringing us."

"It's no trouble," the man said. "And I'm sorry I had to take you away from your parents so soon, but as you know, things are a little out of our control at the moment."

"We understand," the brunette said.

"Oui," Fleur nodded in agreement. "Merci."

"Off you go then," Mr Weasley nodded at the doorway, and the two witches stepped over the threshold. The door closed behind them with another loud clunk, and seemed to be locking itself. Ahead of them was a narrow and incredibly dilapidated looking hallway, with several framed pictures along it; though they were so filthy, it was impossible to tell whether they were photographs or paintings.

'"Ermione, where are we?" Fleur asked, wrinkling her nose. "Zis place smells 'orrible."

"I wish I knew," the brunette replied. "Come on." She set off down along the hallway, careful not to touch the walls. Fleur was even more repulsed by the house, and looked as though she were seconds away from covering her nose.

"It smells like somez'ing died in 'ere," she muttered. "And zere 'as to be rats." Hermione couldn't help but smile; until now, Fleur had been nothing but agreeable and cheerful. Just like that momentary flicker of pride the part-Veela had exhibited when mentioning her family's wealth, the younger girl found she had almost missed the blonde's slightly snobbish comments. They passed under an old fashioned gas lamp that was hanging above them, and came to a slightly wider area. Directly ahead was a closed door, and to the left was another door, as well as the bottom of a staircase. They stood there, both puzzled as to where they were meant to be going, until the door in front of them opened and a plump redheaded woman stepped out, smiling widely.

"Hermione, dear," Mrs Weasley said warmly, instantly pulling the brunette into a tight hug. "Good to see you again. I'm so sorry we had to bring you here so soon, but Dumbledore knows best, doesn't he?."

"It's fine, Mrs Weasley," Hermione replied as they parted. Truth be told she was a little nervous; Mrs Weasley and Fleur had not always been on good terms. The Weasley matriarch had put it aside after Fleur had been injured in the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament, but before that they had been openly hostile towards each other after a misunderstanding involving Rita Skeeter's lies in the Daily Prophet.

"And Fleur," Mrs Weasley beamed, moving onto the blonde. "Exams go well?"

"Uhh, oui," Fleur managed, looking a little startled; something exceedingly rare. Obviously she had been just as nervous about the redheaded woman's reaction as Hermione. "Zey went very well. I 'ave already been accepted into a position at Gringotts 'ere in London."

"Oh that's wonderful!" the witch exclaimed. Hermione rather nervously looked at the basket under her arm, which was emitting a rather low growl now.

"Where shall I put Crookshanks?" she asked. Mrs Weasley looked through the bars at the moody animal and smiled.

"Oh just let him out here," she said. "He can have a good explore." Hermione did as instructed, placing the basket upon the floor before opening it. An orange blur shot out of it; Crookshanks paused only to glare at her for a moment, before disappearing from view. Mrs Weasley chuckled, before turning to Fleur and Hermione. "Now, I've got you two sharing a room with Ginny. There's a double bed, but I expect you both to _behave yourselves._"

"When has Hermione not behaved herself?" a voice asked from the direction of the stairs. They all looked up, to see Ron walking down towards them, a large grin on his face.

"Can you take them to their room, dear?" Mrs Weasley asked her son. "Lunch will be ready soon." As Mrs Weasley went back through the door she had appeared from, Ron shook his head.

"Sorry about that," he said. "Mum's convinced everyone is doing things they shouldn't be – Fred and George have been driving her mental." Smiling, Hermione stepped forward and hugged the redheaded boy. She was a little surprised at how much she had missed him, but it seemed to be hitting home now that he was standing right there. She imagined seeing Harry again would elicit a similar reaction. Ron, for his part, looked rather taken aback, and gingerly returned it. As Hermione pulled away, he looked nervously at Fleur. "Actually, there's something I wanted to say." He took a deep breath, and looked at his feet. "Last term, I said some pretty stupid things, and I think we can all agree I made a bit of a prat of myself." He looked up again, looking between the two girls. "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry if I upset either of you."

Fleur stepped forward, and for the shortest of moments Ron seemed to think she was going to punch him again. Instead, she smiled, and embraced him. "I accept zat," she said, looking him in the eye. "After meeting 'Ermione's parents, I 'ave come to realise zat from your perspective, per'aps I 'ave just waltzed in and stolen 'er wiz'out a moment's explanation. I believe I also overreacted on one or two occasions, and for zat, I also apologise."

Without warning, Hermione grabbed the two of them and pulled them into a tight hug. Seeing the two of them so willingly burying the hatchet without a single bit of prompting was something she had not expected, and seemed to have caused her already high emotions to bubble over. Both Ron and Fleur looked a little surprised when she released them; though Ron's reaction could have been more to do with being in such close proximity to Fleur Delacour – clearly that was one thing that was never going to change. As he tried to hide his rather purple face, he gestured up the stairs and mumbled something about taking them to their room.

**~xxx~**

As it turned out, Ginny was waiting for them in their room. She seemed ecstatic that they were still together, and admitted that she had worried their relationship would have fallen apart after the end of term. While she just laughed it off, Hermione had to admit that during those two weeks alone before Fleur had contacted her, she had had the exact same fears. But after the summer they had been through, she found it hard to worry about such things any longer. After quizzing Ginny about exactly where they were and what was going on, she made them recount their time together in France, unable to stop grinning the entire time. Hermione had to wonder why the youngest Weasley was so keen on them being together, but she reminded herself that Ginny had been there from the beginning – she was the only person Hermione had willingly told about Fleur, and would have remained so if the part-Veela had never come to Hogwarts. And even after then, she had been the only one that knew they were together before the Yule Ball. One by one, Hermione felt as though the pieces of her life were slowly falling back into place, and she too spent almost the entire evening grinning from ear to ear as she laughed with Ginny and Fleur.

Dinner was a bit of a surprising affair; Ginny had somehow managed to leave out the part about Sirius Black owning the house. He had seemed pleased to see Hermione again, and also greeted Fleur heartily, having met her once previously. He looked a lot healthier than he had last they met; more like a normal human being, and less like the dog he was capable of transforming into. As they explained the nature of the Order of the Phoenix – a difficult task with Mrs Weasley frequently telling Sirius he was saying too much – the reality of why they were there began to sink in. There was a storm brewing out there, and everyone sat at the table knew it, even Mrs Weasley; perhaps that was why she was trying to shush Sirius as much as she was, because it was all he seemed to talk about. Hermione and Fleur had been introduced to several other Order members as they ate, including the intimidating but kind-spoken Kingsley Shacklebolt, the real Alastor Moody – who hadn't stopped for dinner, and just offered a gruff greeting before leaving, and to Hermione's delight, Remus Lupin. She explained to Fleur all about his history as their Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, and assured him that he was still the best teacher of the subject they had had. Though as Lupin modestly pointed out, that was little comfort considering his competition was the host of Voldemort's soul, an egotistical con-man, and a Death Eater disguised as an ex-Auror.

As their neared the end of their meal, Hermione was listening in on a hushed conversation between Sirius and Lupin.

"-far fewer than I had assumed," Lupin was saying. "I tried to contact as many as possible, but some have already gone into hiding. Even if we did find them, I hardly think they would be inclined to help."

"And if that's how some of our old allies are behaving now, just how difficult is it going to be to find new ones when people start dying?" Sirius replied darkly, shaking his head and taking a rather large swig of his drink. "We haven't even started fighting and already we're running out of people."

"I'm sure Molly's eldest sons would want to help," Lupin continued. "But I can't imagine that would go down very well with her…"

Sirius glanced over at Mrs Weasley, who was currently fussing over Ginny. "No it would not," he said rather flatly.

"I want to join," a third voice said. Sirius and Lupin looked up at the speaker with looks of surprise. Hermione, however, was looking at Fleur in horror.

"_No_," she hissed. "Fleur, you can't."

"Yes I can," the blonde replied, and Hermione was surprised at just how forceful the response was. "I am an adult now, 'Ermione, I can do as I wish."

"Sirius, please," the younger witch pleaded, desperately trying to keep her voice down. "Tell her she can't-"

"Actually I think it's an excellent idea," the man said, folding his arms and smiling slightly. "Fleur has proven herself to be an exceptionally powerful and talented witch. She would be a valuable asset."

"An _asset_?" Hermione repeated, her mouth hanging open. "That's my girlfriend you're talking about!"

"'Ermione, 'ow can I call zese people friends if I do not offer my 'elp?" the blonde asked, glancing down the table at the others. "I am not going to sit on ze sidelines while zey take all ze risk."

"But why do you even want to?" Hermione shot back, her voice close to cracking now. "You've never mentioned this before; never had any reason… Fleur, why do you want this?"

"For you," she answered, and the earnestness in her voice cut into the brunette like a knife. "All I want is to protect you and keep you safe. While I still intend to take ze job I 'ave been offered, I cannot 'elp keep you safe sitting be'ind a desk."

"Fleur…" Hermione murmured, before allowing her shoulders to sag and looking away, back at her food.

"'Ermione, do not 'ate me for zis," the part-Veela pleaded. The younger girl looked back up at her briefly.

"…I don't hate you, Fleur," she said, her voice still quiet. "I'm incapable of such a thing." She sighed. "And I suppose we are all in danger, anyway, right?"

"Unfortunately so," Sirius said, having remained silent throughout the witches' brief spat. "Hermione, I don't know what to tell you. We need as many people on our side as possible, and as many of them in the Order. And as your rightly say, we're all in danger as it is."

"Alright," Hermione said, looking up at Fleur again. She hated herself for giving in so quickly, but she was unaccustomed to arguing with her girlfriend, and didn't want to do anything that could strain their relationship - even slightly - not when everything had been so perfect up until now.

"Splendid," Sirius said, clapping his hands together. "Obviously we'll have to tell Dumbledore, but for all intents and purposes, consider yourself a member of the Order of the Phoenix."

"Merci," Fleur replied, flashing a brief smile. A few moments later, Hermione felt a hand upon her leg, squeezing gently. Fleur leant across the table, apparently reaching for the salt, but as she did so, she whispered into the brunette's ear. "_For you_," she repeated, and Hermione could hear the absolute adoration in those two simple words. In that moment, she couldn't have felt more proud.

As they left the dining room, they headed up the stairs together in silence, neither daring to speak. However, they hadn't even reached the first landing before an almighty crash sounded from downstairs, followed by several further bangs. They exchanged worried looks, and rushed back down just in time to see Alastor Moody sweeping past.

"FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE, NYMPHADORA!" he bellowed, his mangled face contorted as he shouted. Still rather baffled, Hermione stepped a little further down the stairs, peering round the corner and down the hallway that lead to the front door. In the middle of the floor, on her knees and attempting in vain to re-hang one of the frames that had clearly been knocked from the wall, was a young woman that Hermione could only describe as looking 'interesting.' Shoulder length violet hair, a tattered and faded black coat, and a T-shirt and jeans that were so full of holes they looked as though they had been minced.

"Are you alright?" the brunette asked, smiling awkwardly. Behind the woman, she could see several more fallen frames along the hallway.

"Hm?" She looked up, giving a pleasant smile of her own. "What, this? Oh, no it's fine, I've got it under control."

"Are you sure?" Hermione asked, stepping a little closer.

"Yeah, it's good," the woman said, rather haphazardly getting to her feet and taking in the mess. "I'll sort it out." She pulled out her wand, gave it a wave, and the frames shot back into place. All save one, which seemed to be feebly attempting to levitate from the floor, but was clearly only able to manage a few centimetres before dropping again. The violet-haired woman just waved a hand and shrugged. "Whatever," she said, turning her back on the struggling picture frame. She paused, looking Hermione up and down, and tilted her head. "Sorry, we haven't met have we?"

"No, we haven't," Hermione said. It took all her will power not to say something along the lines of 'I think I would remember you if we had.'

"I'm Tonks," the woman said, holding out her hand and smiling widely.

"Hermione," the brunette replied, shaking the older witch's hand. She had a surprisingly strong grip.

"Hermione _Granger_?" Tonks asked, her smile only widening. "Oh of course you are! Sorry, I completely blanked out for a second there." She shook her head rapidly, violet hair flying everywhere. "Know all about you, of course," she went on. "Ron's always singing your praises." She stepped a little closer, and Hermione came close to backing away; the young woman's energy was a little frightening. "Are they true?" she asked. "The rumours?"

"Rumours?" Hermione repeated, frowning. "What rumours?"

"They say you're going out with that Delacour girl who was in the Triwizard Tournament last year," Tonks said excitedly. "Didn't know what to believe in the papers, of course, with that bitch, Skeeter, writing it. But that's the story that kept cropping up. I asked Ron about it, but he just sort of went…" She frowned, deep in thought for a moment. "…well…_this colour_." She grabbed a handful of her purple hair.

"Oui, ze rumours are quite true." Before she could even turn, Hermione felt her waist encircled by a pair of slim arms, and a chin resting upon her shoulder. "Could I possibly 'ave 'er back? Only we were about to go to bed."

Tonks stood there for a moment, just staring at the two of them, looking incredibly impressed. "That's so cool," she said after a while. She blinked, and shook her head again. "Sorry, yeah. Shouldn't have held you up like that."

"Merci," Fleur said, pulling away from Hermione and taking her by the hand.

"Wait, one thing," the brunette said. Fleur paused, and looked at her curiously. "What was it Moody called you?"

Tonks just gave Hermione a withering look, stood there for a moment, then swept past them and into the dining room.

"Somez'ing bad, I zink."


	9. Settling In

**Harry Potter and all related characters and places are owned by JK Rowling - I just make them dance for my own amusement.**

**You wanted more Tonks, so I've given you more Tonks! Interesting fact: this is the first chapter - including Entwined - to directly reference the characters looking exactly as they do in the movies. Because Clemence Poesy exists. Yus.  
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**~xxx~**

Later that evening, Hermione was to be found sat upon her bed, idly flicking through a recent copy of The Daily Prophet. As was the norm, there wasn't a single mention of anything that could even possibly be linked to Lord Voldemort. She couldn't comprehend just why the Ministry refused to acknowledge the facts, even if it would assuredly spread panic. She had often debated a very similar issue when deciding how to tell her parents about Fleur; lie to them and pretend everything was normal, or admit the truth, knowing the response could not be favourable. She sighed and folded the paper up, tossing it onto the small table beside the bed. The room itself looked as though it had once been very welcoming, but despite Mrs Weasley's cleaning efforts, it still had an air of decay about it. Fleur had wrinkled her nose as soon as they had entered, and seemed to have been pulling a face ever since.

"I've given up on reading it," Ginny said, nodding at the paper. The youngest Weasley was sat upon her own bed on the other side of the room, already changed and looking rather tired. Hermione herself was waiting for Fleur to return from the bathroom before taking her turn to get ready for bed.

"Hm?" the brunette looked up, distracted for a moment. "Oh, yes it is a bit pointless now, isn't it?"

"Dad says some people in the Ministry believe Harry and Dumbledore," Ginny continued. "But they're too scared of being fired to say anything."

"I don't blame them," Hermione replied. "It seems the Ministry will do anything to avoid a panic, even if it puts people in danger. They should be preparing for what could happen, not pretending it isn't going to."

"Did you tell your parents?" the redhead asked. "About You-Know-Who, I mean."

"Oh…sort of," the older witch said, frowning a little. "Actually it was your dad that brought it up… I had a feeling you may invite me to the Burrow – sooner than usual, I mean. I was…ah…" She forced a smile. "…planning on telling them I was studying, actually."

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Well, at least it would have been something believable," she said, smirking. "I did get the impression you weren't expecting to see us quite as soon as you did."

"To be honest, I had been hoping to spend a bit of time with my parents and Fleur," Hermione admitted. "I got a whole two weeks with hers, and yet she barely had twenty-four hours with mine. We probably should have come back sooner…"

"But they liked her, right?" Ginny asked. "Well, I'm guessing they did, otherwise you would have said."

"Yes, they did," the brunette replied, smiling a little more genuinely now. "They were really quite taken with her, in fact."

"She's Fleur Delacour," the younger witch said, as if that explained it all. "Of course they were."

"Not everyone likes her," Hermione reminded her. "You were there all year – you saw what some people said about her."

"Well yeah, but didn't you say she only rubbed people the wrong way when all those other Beauxbatons girls were around?" the redhead pointed out. "What was it you called it? A 'defence mechanism'?"

"Something like that," Hermione said with a nod. "Actually, she mentioned something about that while we were in France…" She shifted slightly, not quite meeting the other girl's eyes. "It was a little scary, to be honest. It really seemed to be bothering her that so many people didn't know what she was really like." She shook her head, recalling the memory vividly. "She said she's going to try and act more like herself from now on."

"Well that's hardly going to change anything from my perspective, is it?" Ginny asked, grinning again. "I only ever see her when she's with you. And when she is, something tells me she couldn't care less what people think of her."

"You think so?" the brunette asked.

"Oh come on, Hermione," the redhead said seriously. "You know you act differently around her, but the same goes for Fleur as well. You may have spent the whole of last year with her, but I heard what those other Beauxbatons were saying about her; they said she was acting like a completely different person."

"How did you understand what they were saying?" Hermione asked, a frown creasing her brow. Ginny just waved a hand.

"They were talking to a bunch of Ravenclaw girls they'd made friends with," she answered dismissively. "Don't change the subject. What matters is you need to remember that whatever effect Fleur has on you, you have on her as well; she acts just as differently around you."

"I don't behave _that_ differently when she's around," Hermione stated defiantly. But then hesitated. "Do I?"

"Okay, it's not that bad," Ginny replied, chuckling. "But all the same…"

There was a comfortable silence for a few minutes, punctuated only by the sound of a small clock on the wall. Ginny had climbed under the covers of her own bed, but remained sitting up. Hermione just remained still, absent-mindedly playing with a loose thread from the duvet. The brunette was about to speak, when the other girl did so first.

"Did Dumbledore tell you not to tell Harry anything in your letters?" Ginny asked after a while. Hermione looked up and nodded.

"Yes, though I still can't quite understand why," she replied. "It seems completely unfair."

"He was here a few weeks ago," the redhead continued. "Told Ron and me in person. We've been here nearly all Summer, you see."

"That's odd," Hermione said. "He only told me not to once I was at Fleur's. He sent a letter."

"Well…" Ginny began, clearly attempting to hide a smile. "What were you doing before then?"

"Well nothing, of course," the brunette replied. "So what would have stopped me telling Harry-"

"You don't understand," the younger witch interrupted, shaking her head and maintaining that slightly worrying grin. "Where was your mind during that time, hm? You're right, you could have sent Harry a letter in those two weeks, but you didn't, did you?"

"I…" Hermione paused, and sighed in defeat. "No, I didn't." She looked back up at Ginny. "Are you honestly saying he knew I would be so upset about being away from Fleur that I wouldn't think to write before I saw her again?"

Ginny shrugged. "He's Dumbledore," she said simply, as if that answered everything. "What do you expect?" Hermione shook her head, rather irritated and embarrassed that her behaviour had been so easy to predict. What with that and Ginny's little speech about how she behaved differently around Fleur, she was beginning to grow rather tired of people being able to read her so easily. There was another moment's silence, before her friend spoke again. "How was France?" she asked. Her voice was quiet, almost as if the question was a deeply important one; not to be taken lightly.

"It was perfect," she replied, smiling widely, her previous annoyance already forgotten. Part of her mind told her this was exactly the sort of over the top romanticism Ginny had been referring to, but she ignored it. "For those two weeks, I didn't have a care in the world…"

"Well I think you deserved that," the redhead said. "You're always worrying about something." Hermione chuckled, and nodded. "You and Fleur…" Ginny continued, her voice coming close to a whisper now. "You didn't…_you know_…?"

"What?" the bushy-haired witch asked, confused. However, it only took a moment to realise what her friend was referring to. "No! No, of course we didn't." She shook her head to emphasise the point. "Ginny, I'm only a year older than _you_; I'm not ready for that."

"Fair enough," Ginny said with another shrug. "I just thought that with Fleur being older and all that…"

"I won't lie, I think we came close a few times," Hermione said before she could think. She instantly regretted it, but felt an undeniable prickle of satisfaction at the look on the younger witch's face. "…obviously, that stays between you and me."

"Won't tell a soul," the redhead promised, holding her hands up, a smile slowly forming on her face. "…'close', hm?"

"Oh shut up," Hermione snapped. "Fleur can be very forward sometimes, you know that."

"Well, you'll be sixteen in September," Ginny reminded her. "You'll be _legal_." Her eyes seemed to widen with glee as she said that last word.

"And you care so much, _why…?"_ the brunette asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I just think it's cool that out of all of us, Hermione Granger is the first one to really go anywhere with anyone," Ginny replied, snickering again. "You have to admit, you didn't expect this any more than we did."

"I…suppose not," Hermione said, allowing a smile of her own. "I know you're tired of hearing it, but sometimes I still can't quite believe it."

"Well, I still want to know all the details," the redhead said enthusiastically. Hermione frowned. "Oh come on, we always used to gossip about stuff."

"Not about what Fleur and I do when we are alone, we didn't," the older witch reminded her. "Why so curious? If I didn't know better, I'd say your interest extends beyond normal friendly curiosity."

"What?" Ginny's eyebrows shot up. "No no no, I'm pretty sure I still like boys." She shrugged and smiled. "It's just…well…you've always been a bit of a role model for me, you know?"

"Well, I suppose I'll tell you everything I can," Hermione said. "Within reason."

"Tell 'er what?" a voice asked from the doorway. Both looked up to see Fleur standing in the doorway, looking rather amused. Hermione's first thought was just how long had Fleur been standing there. But that was quickly chased away by how her girlfriend looked; her hair was loose again, looking rather unkempt; clearly she hadn't bothered brushing it after her shower. She was wearing a long nightdress, over which was a pale silky dressing gown. It was amazing how the part-Veela managed to make even nightwear look like a ball gown.

"Nothing," Ginny said quickly. "Just girl talk."

"I am a girl, non?" Fleur asked, cocking her head to the side curiously. "Or I was ze last time I checked."

"It's nothing, honestly," the redhead insisted. She slid out of bed and stepped past the taller girl. "I'm just going to go to the loo before you sort yourself out, Hermione."

Fleur watched with bemusement as the youngest Weasley closed the door behind her. "What was zat all about?"

"Just Ginny being Ginny," Hermione replied, shaking her head and smiling. "She wants me to tell her all the 'juicy details' of our relationship."

"Strange girl," Fleur remarked, glancing at the door again, before stepping closer to the brunette.

"You look amazing, by the way," Hermione said, feeling her cheeks burning slightly.

"I do?" the blonde asked, looking herself up and down. "What is amazing about zis?"

"You make anything look good," the younger witch said. "Besides, I've never seen you wearing that before. You always wore the other one…" She was positive her face was going red now, remembering the rather more revealing nightie her girlfriend had worn while they were in France.

"Well, it is far colder 'ere," Fleur said. She quirked an eyebrow, and smirked. "Besides, I would raz'er only you see me wearing such a zing, hm? If you must know, it is in zere-" She gestured at her trunk, now positioned beside the bed. "-should I 'ave reason to wear it again."

They both smiled, before Fleur finally sat beside the brunette and pulled her closer. Hermione rested her head against her girlfriend's shoulder, sliding an arm around the French witch's waist. Fleur smelt positively delicious; the scent of her shampoo very apparent. She wished they could have showered together, as they had done at Fleur's house, but Hermione had to admit – being surrounded by her friends again had made her consciously reign in just how intimate the two of them were. Ginny thought she had seen Hermione at her most sappy, and the brunette was rather keen to keep it that way.

"I'm sorry this isn't exactly the sort of place we'd imagined spending our last weeks together," Hermione said after a moment. Fleur sighed and shook her head.

"Non, it is not," she said. "But – and you are going to 'ate me for saying zis – as long as you are 'ere, I do not mind."

"Same," the brunette replied with a warm smile, not caring that she had predicted the blonde's words exactly. "I keep trying to tell myself that we still have more than a month until the start of term, but…"

"I know," Fleur replied. Her tone had become rather more serious than when she had entered the room. "But we knew it would come, and at least we no longer 'ave to worry about losing contact wiz each oz'er."

Hermione gave a small chuckle. "You worried about that too?" she asked, and Fleur nodded, returning her smile.

"A little," the blonde said. "While I was taking my exams, I 'ad zese 'orrible mental images of you running off wiz someone else before I even 'ad ze chance to speak wiz you again." She smiled again, and shook her head. "But now I 'ave you for good, hm?"

"Do you even really need to ask me that?" Hermione replied, quickly leaning in and gently kissing her girlfriend. Of course, at that moment Ginny reappeared. Closing the door behind her, she shook her head and smirked, watching as the other girls pulled away in surprise; even Fleur's cheeks were slightly red.

"I would tell you to get a room," the redhead began. "But seeing as I have to share it with you, could you at least wait until I've gone to sleep before you get started?"

"Very funny," Hermione muttered. Fleur just smiled and got back to her feet, stretching her arms high above her head.

"Well zen, I believe someone still 'as to get changed," she said. Hermione nodded and dutifully headed for the door, wondering if Ginny would ask Fleur just as many awkward questions.

**~xxx~**

The next few days went by rather too swiftly for Hermione's liking. Mrs Weasley was determined to clean the house from top to bottom; in theory it made sense, after all if this was going to be used by the Order for the foreseeable future, it deserved to look a little better than it currently did. But as is usually the case, this was easier said than done. Fleur too was unable to escape cleaning duty; despite having been accepted into the Order, she naturally wanted to stay with Hermione until she left for Hogwarts, and of course, that meant she had to roll her sleeves up as well. It was a rather bizarre sight – Fleur Delacour, part-Veela and Beauxbatons Champion, with her hair tied up and a large duster in her hand, her face covered in muck and grime. Needless to say, she was not very happy.

And before too much longer, this led to inevitable tension between the blonde and Mrs Weasley. Neither was openly hostile, but there were a few vague comments from both sides. Hermione had to admit that she had expected it; the two of them were from completely different worlds, and seemed to bring out the worst in each other. Mrs Weasley was at her most waspish when the blonde was around for too long, and Fleur seemed to become incredibly guarded and snobbish. Hermione just stayed out of it – she agreed with Mrs Weasley, but would never side against her own girlfriend – especially when the matter was so trivial. In the end, though, the Weasley matriarch seemed to have won – arguing that if Fleur was 'too good' to clean the house, she should go help the other Order members. Wanting nothing more than to remain with Hermione, the blonde begrudgingly agreed and the two seemed to have formed an unspoken truce.

Two days after they had arrived, Hermione had sent Harry a birthday card; she had been working on it all morning, preferring to make one rather than just buying it. Fleur had helped out too; illustrating the front with a rather elegant drawing of a pair of crossed broomsticks – a Nimbus 2000 and a Firebolt – as well as signing her own birthday wishes inside. Hermione still felt incredibly guilty that they were unable to tell Harry anything, but another brief visit from Dumbledore the previous night had dispelled any notions she may have had of slipping some information into the message. She was well aware of the Order's increased patrolling of London; and scattered encounters with Death Eaters. But as it was, Harry had to remain in the dark, for whatever reason. She had sent the card off along with Ron's when Hedwig arrived with Harry's latest letter; Hermione had turned her back for a moment while Fleur was affixing the envelopes, when the blonde let out a shriek; Hermione didn't say anything as Fleur rubbed her sore fingers a few minutes later, but she was sure Hedwig had been instructed to bite.

Despite the rather depressing situation regarding Harry, they had found a surprisingly good friend in Nymphadora Tonks, who had taken to sitting with them in the room they shared during the evenings. The first time had been completely by accident; Hermione, Fleur, Ron and Ginny had been sat discussing the implications of Lord Voldemort's return to power, when a loud crashing sound was heard from outside. Not for the first time, Tonks had managed to knock something over – this time, a filthy vase that had been sat empty in the corridor. They had all poked their heads out to see what was happening, and were met with the sight of the accident-prone witch on all fours attempting to spell the vase back into one piece. Sometimes it was hard to believe she was a fully qualified Auror. Despite this, they had invited her in, and quickly asked her more about herself.

"Left Hogwarts just before you lot started," she had said. "Same year as Charlie."

"I think he might have mentioned you," Ron replied, but never elaborated on just why.

"Yeah, I remember him," Tonks said, smirking. "Your mum said he's still got that dragon fetish."

"Well…uh…I dunno if that's the right word for it…" Ron mumbled. "Makes it sound a bit dodgy…"

"What 'ouse were you in?" Fleur asked. The blonde was sat directly behind Hermione, absent-mindedly playing with her girlfriend's hair.

"Oh, Hufflepuff," Tonks replied. "Suppose I wasn't clever, brave or ambitious enough for the others."

"You must be raz'er brave to become an Auror and join ze Order," Fleur pointed out, and Tonks chuckled.

"Or incredibly stupid," she said. "Either way, I do miss those days sometimes. Sneaking around after hours; playing pranks on Grace McCormick…"

"Sounds like you were a predecessor of Fred and George," Hermione said, shaking her head disapprovingly.

"Oh I was always getting into trouble," Tonks said, laughing again. "I was getting detentions for mucking about right up until I finished Seventh Year. Caused even more havoc once I was able to change how I look properly."

"I've never met any other Metamorphmagi," Hermione continued. "They're meant to be extremely rare, aren't they?"

"Never met another one myself," the purple-haired witch replied with a shrug. "Made passing some of my Auror training very easy, though."

"So you can change into anyz'ing?" Fleur asked curiously, still fiddling with Hermione's tangled mane of hair.

"Well, within reason," Tonks explained. "I couldn't turn into an horse or something. But anything human, and I could give it a go. It's much easier to change into something generic, rather than trying to exactly copy how someone else looks."

"Do the pig nose again," Ginny suggested, grinning expectantly. Tonks laughed and nodded. She concentrated for a moment, before her own nose started to change; widening and moving up her face, until moments later, she had a perfect pig snout. She gave a loud 'oink.'

"I still can't get used to that," Ron muttered as the Auror's nose returned to normal.

"One time, I forgot I still had it and went outside," Tonks said. "Had to tell a bunch of Muggles it was a Halloween mask!"

"So could you try to turn into one of us?" Ginny asked, clearly still amazed by the older witch's abilities. Hermione had to wonder why; the Weasleys were surely used to them by now, but she supposed it was rather fascinating.

"Uh...well I could try," Tonks replied, looking a little nervous. "Been a while since I've tried to completely change everything, but why not?" She looked around the group. "So, who shall I do?"

"Fleur," the youngest Weasley said quickly, smirking at Hermione's frown. "Should be easier – she's closer to your age."

"Righto," Tonks said, shifting slightly to get a better look at the blonde, who was looking rather baffled.

"Are you sure zis is a good idea?" she asked, but Tonks just chuckled.

"Don't worry, I'm hardly going to steal it," she said. "Now then…" She regarded the French witch carefully for a minute or so, her eyes moving slowly across her face. Hermione could tell that Fleur was more than a little uncomfortable, but she herself was rather curious to see just how well this would work. Another few moments passed, before slowly, the Auror's face began to change again. Her skin lightened slightly, her eyebrows thinned and her jaw moved up somewhat. At the same time, her hair began to grow longer, becoming lighter as it did so; even her hairline visibly moved. It was a far more elegant transition than the rather grotesque process of using Polyjuice Potion.

Before much longer, her transformation was complete, and the group saw another Fleur Delacour sitting among them. Tonks smiled. "Well?" she asked, putting on a rather bad French accent. "'Ow do I look?"

"Bloody amazing," Ron breathed, his voice rather hoarse. He seemed to have forgotten that the real Fleur was sat nearby as well.

"I'd call that a success," Ginny said, nodding in approval.

"Are you two blind?" Hermione asked, looking at the siblings with disdain. "She looks nothing like her!"

"…what?" Ron asked, turning to the brunette. "Hermione, she's the spitting image."

"No she's not," Hermione replied flatly. She leant forwards slightly, taking in Tonks's new features. "Starting with the basics, her jaw isn't wide enough, her nose is too long, her eyes are a bit too bright; in fact her eyes are a little too big as well. The roots of her hair are too dark, her nostrils are too wide, her brow is a tad too deep. Her ears are the wrong shape, her eyelashes are too long, the moles on her cheek are in the wrong place; actually one of them is missing completely." She paused, and tilted her head slightly. "Oh, and her philtrum is too deep." The others regarded the brunette with amazement, not one of them quite able to speak. She glanced around, taking in their shocked faces. "What?" she said, nonplussed.

"…what the bloody hell is a philtrum?" Ron asked, finally finding his voice. "And how in the name of Merlin's arse were you able to notice all of that?"

"It's this little bit here," Hermione explained, tapping the cleft between her top lip and nose. "As for how I saw it all, well how can you not? Look at them!" She gestured between Fleur and Tonks. "You must be able to see all that."

"Uhhh…no, we can't," Ginny said, an eyebrow firmly raised. "I mean, I can see where the mole's missing, but aside from that they look identical." She broke into a smile and started to laugh. "Good grief, Hermione, you've got it _bad!_"

"But…" Hermione began, unable to stop her cheeks from reddening. "…it's so obvious…"

"Per'aps…" Fleur began, encircling the brunette's waist with her arms and gently pulling her back slightly, so she was half resting on the blonde's lap. "…you are more perceptive of ze details because you are so familiar with me, hm?"

"That's a polite way of putting it," Ginny said, sniggering. Hermione just sighed and closed her eyes for a moment, feeling utterly embarrassed. She could feel Fleur's hair tickling her nose as the blonde continued to look down at her, more than likely smirking.

"Well, aside from those niggles, it's alright?" Tonks asked, her appearance still that of the part-Veela.

"I would say so," Fleur replied, looking up and smiling widely. "Just make sure you do not try to fool 'Ermione."

"With her scary knowledge?" Tonks asked, reaching over for a drink. "Not a chance."

"Fleur is left handed," Hermione blurted out before she could stop herself. Tonks paused, looking at the glass held in her right hand, and sighed.

"I'm going to stick to animal noses."

**~xxx~**

The following evening, they were in much the same position as they had been the previous afternoon; Hermione was resting lazily in Fleur's lap, reading, while the blonde just played with her hair. Hermione had to wonder just how the part-Veela was able to do it for so long without getting bored, but she could already picture the overly romantic response, and so remained silent. Ginny and Tonks had gone downstairs, discussing broomsticks – Tonks had nearly invited Ron to join them, but Ginny had trodden on the hapless Auror's foot rather hard to silence her; her brothers still had no idea their sister had secretly learnt to fly several years previous and continued to sneak out to do so.

The bizarrely warm weather was also starting to take it's toll; being restricted to this musty old house with no windows open was far from ideal, and the humidity was awful. Hermione's hair was rapidly turning into a frizzy mess, as was Fleur's – though Hermione had to admit she actually preferred her girlfriend with slightly untamed hair. By now, the house had started to cool down as night had fallen. Hermione let out a quiet yawn and closed her book, shifting slightly and looking up into those startlingly blue eyes watching her from above.

"Is it bad I'm already tired?" she mused. Fleur smiled and shook her head.

"It is ze 'eat," she said. "Why zey cannot just open a window, I cannot understand."

"Maybe it has something to do with the enchantments on the house?" Hermione suggested. "But I agree, it's not exactly ideal."

"I suppose you are looking forward to getting back to 'Ogwarts," Fleur said, sliding her arms around the younger witch's waist. "Get away from zis weaz'er."

"I don't know…" the brunette admitted. "I mean, yes of course I'm looking forward to going back – I always do, but…well, need I say more?"

"Mmmm," Fleur murmured. "Ah well, it cannot be 'elped." She forced a smile. "Best to not dwell on it, oui?"

Before Hermione could respond, there was a knock on the door. She sat up, and had to resist smiling; Fleur seemed adamant that her arms remain around her. The door opened, and to Hermione's surprise, Lupin stepped in. They had seen very little of the ex-professor during their time at Grimmauld Place; for the most part he kept to himself, unless he was talking to Sirius. He looked particularly weary, and the brunette made a mental note to check when the next full moon was – or indeed if there had been one recently.

"I need you two to come downstairs," he said. "There's some news you need to hear."

At those words, Hermione's smile faded. She imagined Fleur's had too; she could feel the blonde's grip on her instinctively tighten. Lupin disappeared from view, leaving the door open behind him. Fleur and Hermione exchanged concerned looks for a moment, before getting to their feet and leaving the room. They followed the sound of Lupin's footsteps down the staircase, and made their way to the hallway, where Ron, Ginny, Fred, George and Mrs Weasley were standing. Lupin nodded at them before stepping into the kitchen, closing the door behind him.

"Okay, they're here," Ron said impatiently, watching as the two girls approached. "Now can you tell us what's going on?"

"This may come as a bit of a shock," Mrs Weasley began. Hermione only now noticed that the woman's face was a good deal paler than usual. "We've received word that earlier this evening, Harry was attacked by a pair of Dementors."

There were gasps all round. Ginny clapped her hands to her mouth, while everyone else exchanged worried looks. Quickly, Hermione voiced what everyone must have been thinking. "Is he alright?"

"He's fine," Mrs Weasley said. It seemed just saying the words came as a relief to her. "He's back at his aunt and uncle's, and the Order is already making arrangements to move him here."

"Why doesn't someone just apparate him here right now?" Ron asked. "That's got to be the easiest way."

"Mad-Eye won't allow any one person to take him", Mrs Weasley explained. "He's worried about imposters now."

"Then why doesn't he just do it himself?" Ginny asked, but her mother just shook her head irritably.

"Because _Nymphadora_ decided it would be fun to point out that Mad-Eye could also be an imposter," she said. "I think they are considering escorting him here on broomsticks."

"Yeah, because that won't draw any attention…" Ginny muttered.

"There's more," Mrs Weasley continued. "He used a Patronus to ward them off; the Ministry has therefore seen fit to expel him from Hogwarts for performing underage magic."

"_What?_" Hermione barked, her mouth hanging open. "They can't do that!"

"Unfortunately, they already have," Mrs Weasley said, but Hermione wasn't having any of it.

"No, I mean it," the brunette went on. "They literally can't – I'm sure of it. There are rules for this sort of thing; it's completely illegal!"

"But Harry isn't exactly flavour of the month at the Ministry, is he?" Fred pointed out. "They'd probably arrest him for sneezing these days."

"Wouldn't be surprised if they sent the Dementors after him," added George. "After he insisted You-Know-Who was back right in front of Fudge."

"Oh don't be ridiculous!" Mrs Weasley snapped. "The Ministry doesn't send Dementors after people."

Before the twins could argue back, the front door banged open, and a rather exhausted looking redheaded man entered. He breathlessly closed the door behind him, before jogging down the narrow hallway to the bottom of the stairs where everyone was stood.

"I've just heard," Bill Weasley wheezed, doubled over and taking long deep breaths. "Is he safe? Is he alright?"

"He's fine," Mrs Weasley said. "Have you just come from the bank?"

"Was checking something down in one of the vaults," Bill replied, nodding. "There's an anti-apparition charm down there – had to get back to the main building as fast as I could."

As she watched the man regain his breath, Hermione was distinctly aware of Fleur's chest pressing into her back, and a delicate hand ghosting around her hip. She remembered the last time she had seen Fleur and Bill in the same room; when they had first met. Back then, the part-Veela had been rather put off by the man's staring. Though hearing what he had said reminded her of something – he worked for Gringotts too. She was positive he had been working in the field, in Egypt, but clearly that was no longer the case. Part of her scolded her for thinking so, but she couldn't help but feel a prickle of distrust towards the man, at least where her girlfriend was concerned.

"Alright, Fleur?" he asked, looking up at her. Hermione was shocked for a moment; how dare he address her in such a familiar way when she was standing right there to see it.

"Oui," the blonde replied curtly.

"Now then," Mrs Weasley continued, clearly not noticing the awkward atmosphere between the two girls and her eldest son. "Remember, if Harry sends you any messages between now and when he gets here – you are not to tell him anything."

"But Mum," Ron began, aghast. "He's been attacked by a pair of ruddy Dementors! We can't just ignore him!"

"Dumbledore's orders," his mother snapped. "And that's the end of it." She took a deep breath, and regained her composure. "Now, dinner will be at the usual time." She forced a smile. "Come along, Bill, dear. You look like you could use something right now."

As she and Bill headed into the kitchen, the group exchanged baffled looks with each other. "That's it?" Ginny asked, throwing her hands up. "Harry gets attacked and we're expected to just sit around and act as though everything's normal?"

"Suppose there's not much we can do…" Ron mused. "Mum's right; Harry's safe, and the Order are planning to bring him here. What more can we do?"

"Safe?" Ginny repeated hotly. "_Safe?_ How is he bloody safe when a pair of Dementors got to him, _hm? _You just said that yourself!"

"They're not going to let us out," Hermione added, nodding at the front foor. "I'm as angry as you are, but there's very little we can do from here."

"I can see why you wanted to join the Order," Ginny said, nodding at Fleur. "The rest of us are useless." She stalked off up the stairs, her feet sending up small puffs of dust as she went.

"Well…uh…" Ron began awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. "Suppose your room's out of bounds, then?"

"I'd say so," Hermione replied, giving a forced smile. "We'll see you at dinner."

**~xxx~**

A while later, Fleur and Hermione were alone in a small room they had found. Despite appearing as a small terraced house outside, Grimmauld Place felt more like a mansion inside; there seemed to be countless rooms throughout it, and this one had certainly not been touched by Mrs Weasley's cleaning regime. They were sat opposite each other on a pair of old armchairs, which had thankfully been protected by dust covers, leaving the seats themselves clean. Fleur looked rather distracted, and Hermione had an odd feeling that it wasn't just because of what had happened to Harry.

"What's wrong?" she asked, breaking the blonde from her thoughts.

"Hm? Oh, noz'ing really…" Fleur replied. "It is zat man; Bill Weasley."

"I thought so," Hermione said, nodding. "Clearly he still likes you."

"Oh, you 'ave no idea," the part-Veela said, shaking her head. "I probably should 'ave told you – I met 'im once before you arrived in France. He came from Gringotts to sort out some paperwork regarding my job zere."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Hermione asked, feeling a little hurt that her girlfriend had neglected to mention it.

"Well, firstly it was not zat important," Fleur began. "And secondly, for ze obvious reason – you would not take kindly to finding out."

"And finding out now is supposed to make it better?" the brunette snapped. "It's obvious he likes you."

"Oui, of course 'e does," the older witch said with a nod. "Zat much is obvious." She sighed, and leant back in the chair. "'E is oddly persistent. 'E knows I am wiz you, but 'e still seems to be trying to…oh, I do not know…" She shook her head slowly.

"I thought you would be used to men fawning over you," Hermione pointed out, sounding a little harsher than she had intended. "There were loads of them at Hogwarts."

"But it all stopped after ze Yule Ball, non?" Fleur said, her voice rather neutral. Worried that she had upset the blonde, Hermione smiled widely.

"Actually I think that was more to do with the fact that half the school saw you break Ron's nose because he upset me," she said, and finally the part-Veela smiled in return.

"Zat is true," she replied with a nod. She leant forwards again, resting her elbows on her knees. "In any case, if 'e tries anyz'ing on once I start work, you will be ze first to know." Her smile faded slightly, but her voice only became softer. "You need not worry about 'im, mon amour," she said earnestly. "I would sooner die zan leave you."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Hermione replied. She had meant it as a joke, but no sooner had she said it than she realised how morbid it sounded given the current situation. Fleur seemed to notice her girlfriend's discomfort, and got to her feet, extending a hand to her.

"Come, it is nearly time for dinner, oui?"

As Hermione walked with Fleur, she found herself desiring nothing more than to stand as close as possible to the blonde. Their brief encounter with Bill, no matter how innocent, had rattled her. And as they ate that night, she found that Fleur must have realised this, for the blonde's right hand spent the entire meal on Hermione's leg, squeezing gently. Reassuringly.


	10. Trio Reformed

**Harry Potter and all related characters and places are owned by JK Rowling - I just make them dance for my own amusement.**

**Wow, I can't believe how long it's been since the last update. I know, I suck. This chapter has been fighting with me that entire time, and it took a very nice comment on deviantART to finally will me to finish it. Now, it's a bit short - but there's a reason for that. The next chapter will be the last one before they return to Hogwarts, and I want that one to be long-ish, meaning there wasn't a lot of time to focus on in this one. Still, it's finally here - and the next one won't take anywhere near as long, I can promise you that.  
><strong>

**~xxx~**

The next few days passed rather swiftly. As expected, Harry had sent both Ron and Hermione letters telling them of the attack, and Sirius has mentioned receiving one himself. As instructed, however, they gave no response. By this point, Hermione was used to the feeling of guilt over not responding to Harry's questions, and instead tried her hardest not to think about it. They had fallen into a strange sort of routine at Grimmauld Place – consisting largely of them sitting around waiting for something to happen. While Fleur had been present at several Order meetings, she had apologetically revealed that nothing of any great interest had been spoken of; simply more talk of recruiting people to their cause, and murmurs of Voldemort doing the same. While it was news, it was hardly surprising.

With no new information and nothing to do – besides more cleaning – they simply sat in one of the bedrooms, mostly in silence. Hermione could tell that Fleur was starting to get restless; the blonde hadn't said anything, but she had started fidgeting when they sat, and spent a lot of time pacing around, as though waiting for something. Hermione couldn't blame her; Fleur was there because of her; she hadn't asked to stay in this dirty old house. But to her credit, the part-Veela hadn't complained – at least not about having to stay there in the first place; she was still repulsed by the state of the building.

One evening, Hermione was to be found reclining on their bed, her head in Fleur's lap. The brunette had finally remembered to finish her homework – the same piece she had been writing when Fleur had telephoned her. It felt like so long ago, and yet it was still not even a month since that evening. She was taking a short break, resting her tired eyes, when she felt something rather strange; one of her fingers was wet. She frowned and opened an eye. Above her, Fleur was cradling her hand gently within her own, and had taken one of Hermione's fingers into her mouth. She could feel the blonde's tongue slowly running over the digit, and had to restrain a laugh. Fleur's eyes were closed, and she seemed unaware that the younger girl was watching her.

"And just what do you think you're doing?" Hermione asked quietly, hiding her amusement.

"You 'ave cuts on your fingers," Fleur replied softly. Hermione nodded.

"Hedwig," she replied. "I think Harry told her to do it; trying to get more information out of us."

"Zey look so sore…" the part-Veela said, moving onto the next finger and giving it the same treatment. "My poor angel…"

"You know, that's probably not very good for you," Hermione pointed out. "They're covered in ink."

"And zat is why I love zem so…" the blonde replied nonchalantly. "Your 'ands always smelt of ink and books at 'Ogwarts. I 'ave missed it…"

"Smelling it and tasting it are two very different things," the younger witch pointed out, but made no move to retrieve her finger.

"It is intoxicating…" Fleur breathed, finally looking down at her girlfriend with hooded eyes. "I love it…"

"…right," Hermione gave an exaggerated nod. "Azul Marino ink is a Veela aphrodisiac. Good to know."

"Mock all you want, 'Ermione," Fleur replied, ignoring her girlfriend's sarcasm and moving on to a third finger. "I will 'ave what is mine…"

"You are so strange."

"As you 'ave told me many times…"

**~xxx~**

Harry Potter watched Mrs Weasley retreat down the stairs with a look of bemusement on his face. Her disappearing footsteps gave way to a pressing silence; as though the very air within the building was thick. Giving a final cautious glance at the shrunken house-elf heads, he turned to his left and set off down the corridor. The long rug that ran the length of the floor was so filthy that Harry was positive his footfalls were sending up small puffs of dust as he walked. As he continued, the house gave a rather ominous creak; as if it were angered by his presence. He had expected the headquarters of the anti-Voldemort resistance to be a bit more impressive than this; not reminiscent of the Shrieking Shack.

Taking one last nervous look around, he approached the door on the right, and opened it. The bedroom beyond could only be described as 'more of the same' – it was dark, dusty, and somewhat foreboding. There were two beds, one on either side – one of which was freshly made; the other was a complete mess.

"Alright, mate?" a voice asked. Harry had to fight the compulsion to jump, and turned to his left. There was Ron, grinning widely at him.

"Yeah," he managed, trying hard to hide his relief at seeing a friendly face. "You?"

"Not bad," Ron replied, shrugging. He seemed to have grown again over the Summer, towering over the dark-haired boy even more now. Harry looked away, and surveyed the room again.

"Where's Hermione?" he asked; feeling a tiny prickle of annoyance that his other friend hadn't been there to greet him.

"Asleep, last time I checked," the redhead said. "I think she was up all night doing homework."

"You're joking," Harry said, frowning in confusion and turning back to Ron. "She always gets it done first day home, doesn't she?"

"Well, she has been a bit…distracted, lately," Ron said, shrugging again.

"So, what-" Harry began, but was cut off by the sound of the door banging open behind him.

"HARRY!" And before he could react, something had grabbed him from behind and was hugging him tightly.

"Speak of the devil," Ron muttered, shaking his head and restraining a smirk. Harry felt himself released for a moment, and was turned on the spot with a surprising amount of force from the brunette. By contrast with Ron, Hermione had barely changed at all; her hair was just as messy as always, and he was pretty sure he could see ink-stains on her hands.

"I'm so sorry!" Hermione babbled, her eyes worryingly wide. "I was asleep! I told Ginny to wake me up when you got here, but she was in the shower, and I didn't hear you arrive!" Harry got the impression that even Ron was a little disturbed by Hermione's eccentricity. "Oh, how _are _you? Are you alright? Have you been furious with us? I bet you have; I know the letters were useless, but we couldn't tell you anything – Dumbledore made us swear we wouldn't. Oh, we've got so much to tell you, and you've got things to tell us – the Dementors! When we heard – and that Ministry hearing – it's just outrageous! I've looked it all up – they can't expel you, they just can't. There's provision in the Decree for the Reasonable restriction of Underage Sorcery for the use of magic in life-threatening situations-"

"Blimey, let him breathe, Hermione," Ron cut in, looking rather amazed that the brunette had managed all of that in one breathe. "Are you always this mad just after you wake up?"

"It's not funny, Ronald!" Hermione snapped, and the redhead chuckled.

"Now there's the Hermione I know," he said, earning a glare from the bushy-haired girl. "Why didn't I get a greeting like that when you got here?"

"Were _you_ attacked by Dementors over the holidays?" Hermione asked icily. Harry was distracted from the pair's usual bickering by the sound of flapping wings, and before he could react, there was a large snowy owl sat on his shoulder.

"Hedwig!"

"Been in a right state, she has," Ron said, nodding at the bird. "Pecked us half to death when she brought your last letters; look at this-" He rolled up his slightly-too-long sleeves, and showed Harry a large cut on his right hand.

"Oh, yeah," Harry managed, feeling rather sheepish now. "Sorry about that; but I wanted answers, you know…"

"We wanted to give them to you, mate," Ron replied. "We-" But then he paused, frowning at the girl beside him. "Hermione, what happened to your hands?"

"I was working all night and haven't had a chance to wash them," she replied nonchalantly, glancing down at her inky fingers. "Why?"

"No, not that," Ron said, frowning at them. "The cuts are gone."

"Are they?" Hermione asked, and Harry was distinctly aware that the girl's surprise seemed a little forced. "Well…you know…" He didn't quite catch what she mumbled after that, but it sounded distinctly like 'healing properties.'

"Anyway, yeah, we wanted to tell you everything," Ron continued, turning back to the bespectacled boy. "But Dumbledore made us-"

"-swear not to tell me," Harry interrupted. "Yeah, Hermione's already said."

During the conversation that followed, Harry found his temper rising at a steady rate. The joy he had experienced upon seeing his friends had quickly faded, replaced by a mixture of hurt and anger at just how much they had kept from him; regardless of it being under Dumbledore's orders. He couldn't believe that the headmaster would want him kept in the dark like this; not after everything he had seen and done.

"Maybe he thinks I can't be trusted," he muttered, folding his arms.

"Don't be thick," Ron said, but Harry wasn't listening.

"Or that I can't take care of myself," the dark-haired boy continued. Hermione gave him an incredulous look.

"Of course he doesn't think that," she said.

"So how come I have to stay at the Dursleys' while you two get to join in on everything that's going on here?" he asked, his anger – and the pace of his words – increasing. "How come you two are allowed to know everything that's going on?"

"We're not!" Ron insisted. "Mum won't let us near the meetings; she says we're too young."

"Yes, but we still have someone on the-" Hermione began, but before she could finish, Harry had finally had enough.

"So you haven't been in the meetings – big deal!" he snapped, uncrossing his arms. Hermione looked as though she had had to stop herself jumping backwards in alarm. "You've still been here, haven't you? You've still been together!" Now even Ron looked worried. "Me? I've been stuck at the Dursleys' for over a month! And I've handled more than you two've ever managed and Dumbledore knows it! Who saved the Philosopher's Stone? Who got rid of Riddle? Who saved both your skins from the Dementors? Who had to get past dragons and sphinxes and every other foul thing last year? Who-"

"I zink you will find zat you are not ze only one who 'as fought off dragons and sphinxes," a calm voice from the doorway interrupted. Harry turned on the spot, and instantly felt the wind knocked from him; there was Fleur Delacour, stunning as always. He suddenly felt rather short of breath; as though the air had decided to leave the room. He swallowed – a feat that proved rather difficult.

"Hi, Fleur…" he managed, his voice coming out rather hoarse. The blonde just cocked her head to the side for a moment, a single perfect eyebrow raised. And then, rather bizarrely, Harry felt something whoosh silently past him – as though a window had just been opened, and as suddenly as it had gone, the air seemed to come back. He blinked, puzzled as to just what that blast of warmth flying past him had been, but decided to not mention it. Instead, he opted for a more basic line of inquiry. "What are you doing here?"

"What kind of question is zat?" Fleur asked, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. "Is it not obvious why I am 'ere?"

"Uhh…" Harry managed, but Fleur just scoffed and rolled her eyes as she walked past him.

"'Ave you forgotten already, 'Arry?" she asked, coming to a stop beside Hermione. Just as suddenly as his breath had returned to him, a light seemed to switch on in Harry's brain. _Of course_; Fleur and Hermione were together. He couldn't believe that it had somehow slipped his mind. With all the upheaval the previous year; what with the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students occupying Hogwarts, and the lack of the Quidditch Cup, and all the other things happening, he supposed he had subconsciously assumed that Fleur and Hermione's relationship was just another of the things that would be gone when everything returned to normal at Hogwarts this year. He felt rather embarrassed, and looked away. To top it off, he now remembered that not two weeks previously, he had received a birthday card from the pair of them.

"Oh, _Harry_," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. He glanced up and saw that the brunette now had an arm around Fleur's waist. Now that he looked at Fleur clearly, he noticed that she actually looked rather different to the last time he had seen her. She was dressed far more casually – a simple buttoned shirt and jeans, and even appeared to be standing slightly less upright than she had in the past. But most noticeable was her hair – while it had always looked perfectly straight and silky, it was now rather tangled and messy. It also seemed longer – reaching down well past her shoulders. It still managed to frame her face perfectly, but now it was full of waves and curls, and even little tufts sticking out at odd angles. It was a testament to the French witch's beauty that it still somehow worked, especially when Harry realised what it reminded him of – _she looked like Hermione_. From her clothing to her hair, she seemed to be channelling the girl standing beside her. Their smiles certainly matched.

"So…um…what is this place, anyway?" Harry asked, rather keen to change the subject.

"It's headquarters," Ron said. Harry gave him a quizzical look.

"Of the Order of the Phoenix," Hermione clarified. "It's a secret society. Dumbledore formed it back when they first fought You-Know-Who."

"Who's in it?" Harry asked, keeping his attention fixed on Hermione's eyes and not those piercingly blue ones to her right.

"Quite a few people," Hermione replied, glancing at the blonde beside her.

"Myself included," Fleur added, and Harry was sure he saw Hermione twitch slightly.

"We've met about twenty of them," Ron said. "But we think there's more."

"So what are they doing?" Harry asked, finally looking at the French witch. "If you've been in their meetings."

"I wish I could tell you what you want to 'ear," Fleur said. "But it is all what you could 'ave guessed anyway." She shook her head. "Zey are recruiting new members; spreading ze word zat You-Know-'Oo is back. And some are following 'is known supporters – people 'oo were wiz 'im last time, and may be again." She frowned for a moment. "And zere is somez'ing else; somez'ing zey do not talk about openly. I got ze impression zat even some Order members are not allowed to 'ear about it. Zey are guarding somez'ing."

"They're always talking about guard duty," Ron said. "But we have no idea what it is they're protecting."

"Couldn't have been me, could it?" Harry asked, rolling his eyes.

"I asked if zey needed me for guard duty, but zey said no," Fleur added. "Zey want me to keep an eye on ze goblins."

"Goblins?" Harry asked, and the blonde nodded.

"I 'ave a job at Gringotts," she explained. "I start ze day after you leave for 'Ogwarts. Zey want to make sure ze goblins do not go over to You-Know-'Oo's side."

"Would they do that?" Harry asked, and Fleur shrugged – something she still managed to do elegantly.

"I do not know," she said. "Zey are not interested in gold, but if 'e offers zem more…" She sighed. "We will 'ave to see. I get ze impression zat most do not even believe 'e is back."

"You've never talked about goblins before," Hermione said, frowning at the other girl.

"Goblins make for poor pillow-talk," Fleur said matter-of-factly. "'Ardly romantic."

"_Anyway_…" Ron said, his cheeks slowly starting to match his hair.

"So…..what have you been doing?" Harry asked. "If you're not allowed in meetings. You said you've been busy."

"We have," Hermione said. "We've been 'decontaminating' the house. It's been empty for years and things have been _breeding_ in here."

"It is repulsive," Fleur said, wrinkling her nose. "If zat woman makes me scrub anoz'er inch of zis place…"

"Mum's declared war on the house," Ron agreed. "It's bloody impossible!" Harry felt a small burst of amusement – Ron hadn't even seemed offended that his mother had been referred to as 'that woman.' Then he remembered his own reaction to Fleur not minutes ago, and decided to remain silent.

"We have the drawing room to look forward to, tomorrow," Hermione said, letting out a sigh. "Honestly, they should have set cleaning this house as one of the tasks in the Triwizard Tournament."

"If zat were ze case, I would 'ave quit," Fleur said flatly. "Give me dragons; give me merpeople – not zis filth!" She gestured at the room around them. Harry found himself hiding a smirk; he didn't know who to pity more – Fleur, for having to put up with the house when she was clearly used to far better, or Mrs Weasley for having to put up with the French witch's complaining.

**~xxx~**

Hermione had to admit, it was strange having Harry there with them. It felt like a constant reminder that their return to Hogwarts was imminent, and the more she thought about it, the more she wished she was still in France. She was of course happy to have both of her best friends with her again, but just as it had been at Hogwarts, she found herself torn between them and Fleur. At dinner that evening, the part-Veela was oddly quiet. She hardly touched her soup, and seemed rather distracted. She still joined in with conversation, and laughed when Tonks did her usual gallery of different noses, but her smile was rather quick to fade, and it didn't quite reach her bright blue eyes.

Even after Harry had managed to persuade the Order members to tell him at least some information, Fleur remained silent. After Mrs Weasley had sent them up to bed, and Harry and Ron had headed up to the next floor, Hermione stopped Fleur from opening their bedroom door.

"What is it?" she asked, getting right to the point. "You're never this quiet."

Fleur hesitated for a moment, looking rather tired, before finally responding. "Non, I am not, am I?" she replied quietly. "Forgive me, 'Ermione, I am being foolish."

"About what?"

"Ever since 'Arry came back-" she began, but Hermione instantly cut her off.

"If you're worried I'm going to ditch you and focus on them, you're completely wrong," she blurted, but Fleur just raised a hand to silence her.

"If you would let me finish," the part-Veela said calmly. "Ever since 'Arry came back, I 'ave been unable to forgot just 'ow little time is left until you return to 'Ogwarts." She forced a smile, and placed her elegant hands upon Hermione's shoulders. "I feel as zough I am losing you all over again."

"You're not losing me," the brunette insisted. "You'll never lose me."

"I know," Fleur replied, nodding. "But I cannot 'elp feeling zat way." She sighed, and allowed her hands to drop. "I am sorry. I did not want you to see me like zis."

"It's perfectly alright," the younger witch said, smiling at the taller girl. "But…" She brought her own hands up, looping one arm over Fleur's shoulder, and the other around her waist. "…you still have me for nearly a month."

"Mmmmm…I do, don't I?" the blonde purred, leaning into Hermione's touch. "You should probably open ze door, oz'erwise I may not be able to 'old myself back…"

"Down, girl," Hermione replied playfully, pulling her arms away and reaching behind her to open the door. When they entered, Ginny was sat on her bed, waiting for them.

"I heard every word of that and you two are gross."

**~xxx~**

Over the days that followed, Hermione noticed Fleur sticking rather close to her. This in itself was nothing new – they spent as much time together as they could, of course. But now, it seemed that for Fleur being in the same room wasn't enough – she had to be within arm's reach of the brunette. Normally Hermione would have found this foolish; irritating even. But the simple fact that it was the usually calm and confident Fleur Delacour behaving this way caused her no small amount of concern. Not that she needed an explanation – she was starting to feel it too. Time had a funny way of working when it came to her relationship with Fleur – a day apart felt like a year, but their time in France had been over so quickly. And now it seemed to be passing in bursts – sometimes the two weeks left until the start of term felt like forever, and yet others it felt as though it would be over if they merely blinked.

True to her predictions, they had spent much of their time continuing to wage war against the house, which was putting up an incredible fight. Hermione got the impression they would barely be half-finished by the time she and the others returned to Hogwarts. Seeing as Fleur would be remaining at Grimmauld Place for the foreseeable future, she did not envy her girlfriend one bit. Still, perhaps Mrs Weasley would treat the blonde more like an adult once Hermione was gone – she had noticed that likely due to Fleur constantly hanging around with those younger than herself, Mrs Weasley was subconsciously treating her as if she were the same age as the rest of them. Though to be fair, she herself often forgot that Fleur was two years her senior – the part-Veela had a childlike streak that reminded Hermione of Gabrielle, though the youngest Delacour's sister would likely hate the comparison.

As the pair of them laid together one evening, Hermione absent-mindedly running her fingers through Fleur's increasingly wild hair, she wondered just how they were going to cope once parted. They had done it before, of course, but despite the doubts they had experienced back then, they had at least been hopeful of a meeting relatively soon after. Now, she faced the prospect of four months without Fleur, followed by another six after Christmas. Her logical side told her not to worry, but as the blonde beside her let out a quiet murmur, she found herself wondering whether she was even capable of being parted from her girlfriend for so long. She told herself that she should feel pathetic for thinking that way, but all she could focus on was the girl in her arms, and wanting nothing more than to stay with her forever.


	11. Last Gasp

**Harry Potter and all related characters and places are owned by JK Rowling - I just make them dance for my own amusement.**

**I feel like a kid walking into a class ten minutes after everyone else. Ummm...hey guys, I'm back...? Something tells me some of you were getting pretty desperate for this, and I can only apologise. I don't really have a solid excuse - life, other fandom-y stuff, etc.**

**BUT - and it's a very big but - as promised, this fic will never die, and the next chapter is already half finished, with plans to be uploaded sometime next week. And here's a teaser for you - the next chapter will feature something you've all been asking for, ever since I was writing Entwined.  
><strong>

**~xxx~**

Over the following month, things remained more or less the same. Mrs Weasley's crusade against Grimmauld Place continued, members of the Order came and went, and Fleur and Hermione spent as much time in each other's company as they possibly could. Ginny teased them mercilessly about being joined at the hip, but they just laughed along with her; they were hardly going to deny what was clearly so true. Harry's acquittal at his trial had come as a relief, but little of a surprise to Hermione. She had been positive the law was on her friend's side, but Ron and Ginny had reminded her with raised eyebrows that the Ministry was not above bending the law in certain circumstances, as much as the brunette didn't want to admit it.

And before too much longer, Hermione found herself heaving her trunk onto the bed, and retrieving her belongings from around the room. During her time at Grimmauld Place, she had become surprisingly comfortable in the small room. As her first choice of confidant with all things 'Fleur', Ginny had been terrific company. She got on effortlessly with the couple; giving them space when they needed it, but always being there when they felt like staying up all night talking about nothing in particular. This realisation gave Hermione comfort, if only a small amount; Ginny would be at Hogwarts with her, so she would still have someone to spend time with when Harry and Ron inevitably drove her up the wall with their Quidditch talk.

Fleur had helped her back, of course, but she did so with the same solemn silence that had been present lately. On more than one occasion, Hermione had caught the part-Veela simply holding things of hers; books, clothes – even a hairbrush, and regarding it as though it were priceless. She never once mentioned that she had seen Fleur doing it, not wanting to embarrass her, but the sentiment was not lost on her. In almost every way, this was going to be harder on Fleur; she was staying put while Hermione was leaving. She was now living in an unfamiliar country while Hermione was returning to a place that was more home than her parents' house. And of course, there was her Veela heritage to consider; the heightened feelings of loss and longing she was bound to feel with Hermione's absence hung over them like an oncoming storm. The mood was so morbid, it was almost as if the brunette had already left, and she was merely a ghost bearing witness to the aftereffects.

Despite this, she kept her chin up, if only to spare herself the inevitable teasing from Ron. Even after the time they had spent together as a group last year, she still felt as though her feet were in two separate worlds – in one, she was part of the Golden Trio; best friend of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley; secretly enjoying their penchant for rule-breaking and taking risks while somehow managing to also be top in every class. And in the other, she was Fleur Delacour's girlfriend; far more partial to sappy romantic behaviour and fearful of the heartache the coming year would bring. The two had never seemed to gel completely – hanging out with Fleur, Harry and Ron at the same time had the same feeling as family get-togethers; two sides that got on fine, but didn't really know each other well enough to share the same bond they both did with Hermione. She often worried that one day she would have to choose, though there had been no sign that this was the case; Harry and Ron understood perfectly that she wanted to spend time with Fleur. And in any case, it was no different to her spending time with Ginny, as she had done ever since the youngest Weasley had arrived at Hogwarts. Still, if the choice ever did appear, she knew deep down that it would be an easy one; despite everything she had been through with Harry and Ron, she would never sacrifice what she had with Fleur. That simple fact sometimes scared her, but she would be lying if she said part of her enjoyed knowing she had someone for whom she would give up everything, and that she could expect the same in return.

When it finally did come to their last full day, Hermione awoke with a slightly sick feeling deep in the pit of her stomach. By all accounts, this morning was technically no different to every other morning in Grimmauld Place; it was roughly the same time she had woken up every other day, and as usual, a pair of strong arms were wrapped firmly around her waist. That one fact did give her some brief humour; no matter how they were laying when they went to sleep, Hermione always somehow ended up on top of Fleur, her head resting upon the blonde's shoulder. She shifted slightly, pressing her nose into the crook of the part-Veela's neck.

"I zought you were awake," Fleur murmured, giving her a small squeeze. The younger witch lifted her head to get a better look at her girlfriend, and couldn't help but smile; Fleur's hair really was one incredibly tangled mess now; maybe they really were rubbing off on each other.

"How long have you been awake?" she replied, shifting her arms so she was no longer resting her entire weight upon the French girl. She looked up into those piercing blue eyes; mesmerising as always, even when only half-open and full of tiredness.

"Not long," the blonde said, giving a lazy shrug and yawning. "I do 'ope you are aware zat you will be late for breakfast zis morning."

"Oh?" Hermione raised an eyebrow. "And why, pray tell, is that, Miss Delacour?"

"Because Mademoiselle Delacour wishes to enjoy 'er last lay-in," the part-Veela replied, flashing a wide smile and closing her eyes. "Whez'er 'er bed-partner wishes to or not."

"Well…" the brunette began, shifting further into the taller girl. "Something tells me her bed-partner won't be complaining…"

"I can _still_ hear you two," Ginny called from her own bed. "And you're _still_ gross."

**~xxx~**

Later that morning, Fleur and Hermione were relaxing in one of the cleaner rooms of the house. Despite her animosity towards Fleur, Mrs Weasley had given them the day off, seeing as it would be their last together for some time. The couple were reclining on the least moth-eaten sofa, Hermione flicking through a book and Fleur simply playing with her girlfriend's hair, gently curling it around her elegant fingers. The quiet was welcome, having spent most of their time together over the past few weeks on their feet. It also saved them from the inevitable discomfort of choosing their last words to each other before parting. However, just as Hermione felt herself beginning to drift off due to Fleur's soothing touch, the door opened, and Ron poked his head in.

"Booklists are here," he said, holding up an envelope. He tossed it over to her before she could react, but an arm shot out and caught it all the same. Fleur smiled, and handed the envelope to Hermione.

"At Beauxbatons we received our lists much earlier zan zis," the blonde said, nodding at Ron as he left. "Do zey always expect you to get everyz'ing on ze last day?"

"Not usually," Hermione said, frowning slightly. Fleur was right; this was rather odd. So much so that she had almost forgotten that they had yet to purchase their new books. She turned the envelope the right way up. "Feels a little heavier than usual, too." She slit it with her fingers, and pulled out two sheets of parchment, scanning through it quickly.

To say that Fleur was surprised when Hermione let out a high-pitched squeak would have been an understatement. The brunette clapped a hand to her mouth, unable to look away from the letter. The older witch peered curiously over her girlfriend's shoulder.

'_Dear Miss Granger,_

_We are pleased to welcome you back for another year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and remind you that term begins on September 1__st__._

_In light of your high standards of both behaviour and academic achievement, we are delighted to inform you that from this year onwards, you will hold the position of Prefect. As you are aware, only two students from each House are chosen every year. In this role, you are expected to keep to the high standards you have previously demonstrated, and serve as a mentor to your fellow classmates. You will be informed of your extra responsibilities and authorities during your journey to Hogwarts at the start of term._

_Please find enclosed one Prefect badge, in addition a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress.'_

Glad Hermione couldn't see the huge grin on her face, Fleur instead turned the envelope upside down, and a small red and gold badge dropped onto Hermione's chest. The brunette jumped slightly, and seemed to snap back to reality. She lowered the letter, and with her other hand picked up the badge; the Gryffindor crest with a large 'P' over the top of it. It glinted brightly in the morning sun filtering through the now clean windows, gleaming impressively.

"I…" the younger girl began, completely lost for words. "I mean, I thought I _may _have a chance, but…"

"I am so proud of you," Fleur whispered, leaning forwards and allowing her lips to brush against Hermione's ear as she spoke, before pressing a kiss to the side of her neck. Hermione suppressed a moan as she felt her girlfriend's breath tickling her, and turned her eyes back to the parchment still clutched in her hand.

"Thanks…" she murmured, still somewhat in shock. "I should probably talk to Harry and Ron…let them know and…" She slowly got to her feet, careful not to shove Fleur as she climbed off of her. The brunette gazed down at the letter again, before looking up and meeting Fleur's as the part-Veela also stood. And then slowly, a grin crept onto her face, followed by a sudden wave of excitement. "Oh my god, Fleur, I'm a prefect!"

For the second time that morning, Fleur's reflexes came in handy; she was able to steady herself before Hermione literally jumping into her arms caused her to fall. She gripped the brunette tightly, letting out a laugh and making sure the younger witch's legs were firmly wrapped around her waist before loosening her grip slightly.

"Mon dieu!" she cried, taking in the other girl's expression with glee. "And I zought you were about to fall asleep!" Hermione just laughed, before eventually allowing herself to drop back to the floor, taking a step back from the other girl.

"Sorry," the brunette said, glancing away for a moment to hide her red cheeks. "I didn't mean to jump you like that…"

"Ah, ma cherie…" Fleur began, closing the gap between them and looking down at the other girl with an unwavering smile. Her eyes were narrowed and there was something altogether predatory about her demeanour. "You can 'jump' me whenever you want…"

The innuendo hung in the air for a moment, Hermione not quite realising what her girlfriend had said for a few seconds. As soon as she processed the part-Veela's words, her cheeks coloured even more, and she let out a rather forced cough. "Um…I…we should probably go see Harry and Ron," she said shakily, earning a smirk from the other girl.

"As you wish, mon préfet…"

**~xxx~**

After they had spoken to Harry and Ron, and failed miserably at hiding their joint surprise with Ron's appointment as a fellow prefect, an idea wormed it's way into Hermione's head. Mrs Weasley had just disappeared from the room, having stated that she would purchase all of their books and supplies for the year. Fred and George teased Ron for a few minutes, before disappearing from the room, leaving the four of them alone. As always, there was a slightly awkward vibe in the air, but this time it felt as though Harry was the odd one out. Ron, Hermione and Fleur regarded him in silence as he set about packing his trunk. Hermione knew what was wrong, of course; Harry had expected to be made prefect instead of Ron: that much was clear.

Ron himself was still rambling about his potential new broomstick; "Yeah, I think I'll go and tell her I like the Cleansweep, just so she knows."

And with that, he hurried from the room, leaving just the three of them. Harry still didn't look happy, and Hermione couldn't blame him – after discovering Ron had been made a prefect instead of Harry, she had almost forgotten that she too had been given the position; the letter was even still clutched in her hand.

"Harry?" she asked, breaking the silence. She could have sworn she felt Fleur relax somewhat.

"Well done, Hermione," Harry said, turning to her and forcing a smile. "Brilliant. Prefect. Great."

"Thanks," the brunette replied, knowing full-well that his congratulations weren't exactly heartfelt. "Erm…Harry…could I borrow Hedwig so I can tell Mum and Dad? They'll be really pleased; I mean, _prefect_ is something they can understand."

"Yeah, no problem," Harry replied, still forcing himself to sound cheerful. It was rather off-putting. "Take her!"

Hermione smiled in thanks. "I'll just go grab some parchment," she said, before rather swiftly taking Fleur's hand and all but pulling the blonde from the room. As the door closed behind them, Fleur eyed her curiously.

"I 'ardly zink 'Edwig is going to disappear in ze time it takes you to write your letter," Fleur said, but Hermione shook her head, already leading her girlfriend down the corridor.

"I'm not writing my letter," she clarified. "At least not yet. I had an idea that I think you'll like."

"Oh?" Fleur sounded genuinely curious, and tilted her head slightly. "Does it 'ave somez'ing to do wiz why we are 'eading downstairs so fast?"

"Of course," Hermione replied, flashing the blonde a smile. "How would you like to visit Diagon Alley?"

"'Ermione, I am going to be working zere from tomorrow anyway," the part-Veela pointed out. "Why would I wish to spend an extra day zere?"

"Two reasons," the brunette stated simply as they began to descend the stairs. "One; you've never actually been there, and it might be a good idea to get your bearings beforehand. And two-" She smiled. "-you won't normally get to spend the day there with me."

Fleur was quiet for a moment, before she gave a smile of her own. "As always, your argument is flawless," she said, and Hermione got the strong impression that had they not been rushing down the stairs, she would have received a kiss at that point.

By the time they reached the hallway, Mrs Weasley was pulling her coat on; Ron must have already delivered his instructions and disappeared off somewhere. Hermione couldn't blame him; Harry probably wouldn't appreciate the company at the moment. She paused for a moment, looking between Mrs Weasley and her girlfriend, yet another idea forming in her mind.

"Fleur," she began, injecting a hint of sweetness into her voice. "Do you think you could nip back up and get me my scarf? It looks pretty chilly outside…"

The older witch gave her a look.

"I 'ave just 'ad to walk down every single step in zis 'ouse," she stated haughtily, summoning as much of her repressed snobbish nature as she could. "And now you want me to go right back up? And zen down _again?"_

"Please?" Hermione said. And then she did something she had never ever done before; never even in their time together at Hogwarts. She pouted.

Fleur remained stoic for a moment, and then sighed. "You are lucky I love you as much as I do." She turned on her heel, and stalked off up the stairs, muttering something in French about how Hermione should have left it with her coat downstairs. With that taken care of, Hermione sped off down the hallway, catching Mrs Weasley just as she was about to open the door.

"Mrs Weasley?" Hermione asked. The redheaded woman turned to her and smiled. "I was wondering if we could come with you."

"Oh, there's no need for that, Hermione dear," she replied with a smile. "I'm getting your books too."

"Actually, it's not for that," the brunette clarified. "Though I'm very grateful, it's just…" She threw a glance over her shoulder. "Well, Fleur starts work tomorrow, but she's never been to Diagon Alley before. She'd never admit it, but she's ever so nervous about getting lost on her first day. It would really help her if I could show her around before we go back to Hogwarts."

"I'm not sure," Mrs Weasley replied, her smile fading slightly. Hermione knew she was concerned for her safety, just as she was for Harry and her own children – but she would never admit it. Doing so would just leave her open for questions about the Order; something Mrs Weasley still wasn't keen on them knowing about.

"I'll go with them," a slightly muffled third voice chimed in. They both looked up, and found Tonks standing there, a lollipop stick protruding from her mouth. Mrs Weasley didn't even ask where the pink-haired Auror had appeared from, and seemed to be debating with herself internally. Finally, she relented, and nodded.

"Alright then," she said. "No need to worry about your books, Hermione – I'll still pick those up with the others and save you the hassle. But you're to meet me at five o'clock at the Leaky Cauldron, and _not a minute later_, understand?" Hermione got the distinct impression that the Weasley matriarch's stern tone was intended more for Tonks than her. The Auror gave an energetic nod, and smiled. "Well, I'll see the three of you later, then." But rather than opening the door, she peered over Hermione's shoulder. "Where is Fleur, anyway?"

"Oh, she's getting my scarf," Hermione replied, but Mrs Weasley just frowned.

"You mean this scarf here?" she asked, and gestured at the nearby coat rack. Sure enough, draped over Hermione's own coat, was her scarf.

"…that's the one."

**~xxx~**

"I cannot believe you sent me all ze way up zere for _noz'ing!"_ Fleur hissed, shooting Hermione a sideways glare. Despite her irritable tone, it didn't stop them from holding hands the moment they had left Grimmauld Place. Mrs Weasley had of course apparated straight there, but seeing as Fleur had never been there, the three of them were now walking along a muggle street, heading to the Leaky Cauldron.

"I needed to get you out of the way," Hermione replied apologetically. "I didn't have time to explain what I was going to tell Mrs Weasley."

"But time enough to send me off on a pointless errand," the blonde muttered. "I would 'ave just remained silent and asked after."

"No you wouldn't," the younger witch said, a smile spreading across her face. "You would have been offended that I had insulted your intelligence and called me out on it straight away." Fleur just mumbled something unintelligible. "Don't be so childish."

"'Ermione, I zink you are well aware zat I am no child," the part-Veela declared, holding her head up. "Madame Weasley probably did not even believe your little lie. I 'ave an excellent sense of direction; I would 'ave been fine tomorrow."

"Fleur, you are such a _man_," Tonks piped up, earning a glare from the blonde. "I mean it! You walk around like you own the place, even if you haven't got a clue where you are!"

"'Ow dare you!" Fleur growled. "I do not walk around like I 'own 'ze place'." Hermione supressed a chuckle, and instantly found herself victim to her girlfriend's glare. "…most of ze time."

"You are wrong about one thing, Tonks," the brunette said, deciding Fleur had had enough teasing. "Fleur is most definitely no man…"

"Well you would know," the pink-haired woman said with a smirk. "No wonder Ginny hasn't been getting much sleep lately – must be pretty difficult with you two in there."

"What?" Hermione gasped, turning to Fleur, then back to Tonks. "No. Oh, no, we…uh…we haven't…I mean, we've never actually…uh…"

"I zink what my verbally-challenged girlfriend is trying to say," Fleur began, now smiling again. "Is zat she and I 'ave yet to take our relationship to zat stage. She is but a young little zing, after all…"

"_Fleur!"_ Hermione hissed, now throwing looks in every possible direction, making sure there was no one else around to hear what was being said. Thankfully, the street was deserted, but it didn't stop her from going completely red. "Stop talking this instant!"

Tonks just cackled and went back to sucking her lollipop, watching as the younger witches continued to bicker like an old married couple.

**~xxx~**

Put simply, their afternoon in Diagon Alley was the most fun Hermione had had since returning from France over a month ago. It helped that Tonks was by now a good friend of theirs, and the rapport the three of them had was almost akin to the one Hermione shared with Harry and Ron at Hogwarts. They started by showing Fleur exactly where Gringotts was – not that it was really necessary, given the size and location of the building. Once that was out of the way, they spent their first hour window shopping. Hermione hadn't brought any money with her, having not planned on actually buying anything, and was surprised when Tonks shoved a rather large ice-cream under her nose.

"My treat," she had said, and the brunette took it gratefully, watching as Fleur was handed one as well. It occurred to her that she had no idea just how well-off Tonks was, not that it mattered of course. Still, she now wondered whether the young Auror's tattered attire was due to her financial situation, or simply personal choice. She shrugged, and set about devouring her ice-cream.

They took Fleur to all the well-known places; Ollivander's, where the old wand-maker greeted the three of them warmly, having of course made Hermione and Tonks' wands himself, and studied Fleur's the previous year. He still remembered their exact compositions, and wished Hermione well for the new term. After that, they passed by Flourish & Blotts, but decided against looking inside – it was absolutely packed with parents and students. Then they briefly visited Madam Malkin's, where Hermione regaled Tonks with the story of the cloak she had had made for Fleur as a Christmas gift at the shop's Hogsmeade branch. This was followed by a rather amusing visit to Eeylops Owl Emporium, where Fleur revealed that she still hadn't quite forgiven Hermione for repeatedly ruining her shoes by holding their early secret rendezvous in the Hogwarts Owlery.

As they visited shop after shop, the reality that soon they would be parted began to sink in. Every time Fleur did something; laughed a certain way, tossed her hair over her shoulder; even said certain words – Hermione wondered whether it would be the last time she saw it before returning to Hogwarts. She was barely focussing on where they were going as they neared the end of their visit, and had to stop and get her bearings when Tonks led them down a side-alley and into a rather dimly lit building. She told them it was a second-hand clothes shop, where she came to hunt out so-called 'gems' that the more mainstream retailers didn't stock. On this particular day, Tonks was in luck, and left the store with a beautifully detailed ankle-length coat; deep red in colour, with gold buttons and black lining. Hermione didn't catch how much it cost, but even second-hand it must have been a lot. For a moment, she was slightly envious; tomorrow she would don her uniform for another year, where the only other clothes she would have were ones she already owned.

Fleur seemed to notice the distracted look in her girlfriend's eyes, but didn't say anything. Instead, she just gripped her hand tighter, and made an effort to maintain a smile. To Hermione's surprise, they actually managed to meet up with Mrs Weasley on time. The redheaded woman gave them a little wave from the table she had been sat at, though it was hardly necessary; the huge pile of books beside her was a dead giveaway.

Time seemed to be playing another of it's malicious games on them that afternoon, and before she could really remember how, she found herself sat on the bed she and Fleur shared, watching the blonde change.

"Do you really need to do that?" she asked quietly. The part-Veela looked over to her and smiled.

"Of course," she replied. "It is a party, non? I wish to look presentable."

"A party that consists entirely of people we've seen every day for the past month and aren't going to be putting in any effort," Hermione pointed out, but even she was having a hard time repressing a smile now; watching Fleur fret over her appearance had an oddly calming effect on her. It was such an unremarkable, _normal_, action, and perhaps that was why it served to lift her spirits, if only a little. She wondered if she was being selfish; worrying about her own feelings so much. Fleur had to be feeling something too, but for most of the day she had been unreadable. They had had their moments during the past week, but today she seemed almost entirely unfazed by it all. Hermione wondered if it was another of her girlfriend's coping mechanisms; she knew for a fact that Fleur was hurting just as much as she was, or at least part of her hoped she was, as strange as it sounded.

The party itself was unremarkable, and Hermione felt awful simply for thinking that. It was for her and Ron, after all. She smiled when the Weasleys and members of the Order congratulated her, and even blushed a little when they proposed a toast to the two of them. She caught a flash of pride in Fleur's eyes as the blonde raised her own glass, and that was more than enough to get her through the evening. However, as she watched Harry talking to Fred and George with some curiosity, something caught her eye from across the room. She and Fleur had spent most of the party mingling with other people, not wanting to appear overly clingy in front of so many people, despite Fleur's protests that she didn't care if the entire of London watched them. But now, Hermione wanted nothing more than to be at Fleur's side; Bill Weasley was sat beside the blonde, talking animatedly about something. Fleur was a good actress, but Hermione had long since learnt how to spot when she was feigning interest; her bright blue eyes would flick away for a split second between Bill's sentences; her left hand twitched slightly, almost nervously. After a few attempts, Hermione caught her girlfriend's eye.

Blue locked firmly with brown, Fleur watched as Hermione moved over to Mrs Weasley.

"I think I'm going to have an early night," the brunette said, feigning a yawn. "Thank you so much for doing all this." Despite it's forced nature, her fake yawn caused a very real one to escape the redheaded woman's lips.

"I don't think I will be very far behind you," she replied. "I think I'll just sort out that Boggart before I turn in…" She turned to her husband, who was currently talking to Lupin and Kingsley about something. "Arthur!" she called, before gesturing to the side – Hermione assumed it was meant to be directed at herself, Ron, Harry and Ginny. "I don't want this lot up too late, alright?"

With that settled, Hermione made her way to the kitchen doorway, and with a final glance at the party – and a quick wave to Tonks - headed back into the hallway. As she climbed the first set of steps, the noise from the congregation downstairs quickly died away; it was amazing how this old building had the ability to suck the sound and life from everything. However, at that moment, Hermione felt very much alive. She knew what she was doing.

She knew she was being followed.

As she reached the landing that led to her room, she could still hear the stairs groaning behind her, creaking as another pair of feet ascended them. Hermione smiled, and slowly entered the bedroom. Everything was neat and packed, ready for tomorrow morning. But as she heard someone else cross the threshold and close the door, her mind was anywhere but dwelling on the next day.

The force with which Fleur span her around and crushed their lips together all but knocked the wind from her, and it took the brunette a good few seconds before she remembered even _how_ to reciprocate. But when she did, it was like fire. They had only ever kissed like this a few times in the past; desperate, needy, and hungry. They pulled away at the same time, but kept their arms firmly locked around each other's waists. Their breathing was already laboured; two pairs of eyes shining dark with want and need. Their lips joined in another heated kiss, slightly slower than the first, but even more forceful. At that moment, Hermione _knew_; Fleur was feeling _exactly_ as she did. Her interaction with Bill was testament to her ability to hide her feelings, but now they were alone, it was as though their souls mirrored the other's. Words were no longer needed.

It was Fleur that brought Hermione down to the bed, her arms supporting the younger witch as if she were asleep. But even as her head touched the pillow, the last thing on Hermione's mind was sleep. She needed Fleur. She needed to know that this separation wasn't going to tear them apart; to wreck everything that had worked so hard for. The bushy-haired girl was pulled from her thoughts by Fleur's lips against her neck, nipping and sucking and doing all sorts of things that were bound to leave marks. It was always Fleur on top in these situations; she had always been more dominant. Her parted lips forming a grin, the brunette reached up to grab the other girl's waist, and with a burst of strength, rolled them over. For a moment, Fleur's piercing blue eyes were wide with surprise, before that trademark toothy grin was in place, and she ran her hands down to Hermione's thighs. With some surprise, the younger witch realised that she had ended up straddling the blonde. Impressed with her own boldness, she leant back down to reclaim her girlfriend's lips.

"I want you," she murmured, not even bothering to pull away, causing her words to slur against the other girl's skin. "Fleur, I want you so badly…"

"I know," came the response. Hermione felt her waist encircled with the part-Veela's arms, and leant further into her, making a point of pressing their chests together. "I know, because I feel it too, 'Ermione…"

"Show me," the brunette replied huskily, and was just about to bring her hands to Fleur's collar, when the taller girl's voice interrupted her.

"Wait," she said. And when she flicked her eyes up to meet Fleur's, she saw that they had cleared somewhat; become focussed once more. "'Ermione, I do not want it to be like zis."

"What?" Instantly, Hermione feared that she had done something wrong; gone too far. However, Fleur's hands didn't move from her thighs, and the heat radiating from her fingertips was still driving her crazy.

"When our time comes, it must be perfect," Fleur continued, and at that moment Hermione saw nothing but complete adoration shining up at her from those bright blue eyes. "I do not want it to be a desperate act motivated by fear." She slowly moved a hand from the brunette's leg, and cupped her face with it. It was all Hermione could do to not lean into the touch. "You are not going to lose me, 'Ermione. Not so long as you can promise me zat I will never lose you."

"I made my promise when I first kissed you," Hermione replied, swallowing uncomfortably. "All that time ago, a part of me must have known…"

"Zen tonight should not be about taking what we can before it is gone," the blonde said, smiling warmly and stroking the other girl's cheek with her thumb. "It should be about making zat promise again."

Hermione was quiet for a moment, gazing down at Fleur's face, taking in every the blonde beauty she was still effectively sitting on. After a while, she gave a smile of her own. "You're right," she said, nodding. "I'm sorry, Fleur, I don't know what came over me."

"You talk of it as zough it is gone," Fleur murmured, and the brunette almost gasped at the tone her girlfriend had used; her voice was nothing but arousal. "Tonight may not be ze time for us to take zis as far as we can, but…" And there was that grin again. "Zat does not mean we cannot do _somez'ing."_

"What…" Hermione swallowed again. "What did you have in mind…?"

Fleur positively purred, and moved her outstretched hand back to the other girl's thigh. "What would you say if I suggested zat anyz'ing above ze waist is fair game, hmm…?"

"I would say…" Hermione paused, and slowly, grinned in return. "…that I like the sound of that."


	12. Torn Away

**Harry Potter and all related characters and places are owned by JK Rowling - I just make them dance for my own amusement.**

**I know what you're all thinking - what's the excuse this time? Well, you'll have to make do with an excuse for why there's no excuse - I'm already halfway through the next chapter and I'm not stopping until it's done. Incidentially, the thing I said you'd all been asking for that would be in this chapter? Due to the scenes I wanted to show, that's now in the next chapter.**

**Won't give an estimate on exactly when it'll be done, seeing as every time I do, you end up waiting months for it - so I'll just say 'soon'  
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**~xxx~**

The next morning, Hermione woke early. The room was dark; no light filtering through the ancient curtains, leaving her vision entirely black. Of course, she didn't need light to know who was lying atop her. Perhaps as a testament to their shared dread of today, she and Fleur had not ended up in their usual morning position. It was unusual for Hermione to remain below the taller girl, but not entirely unpleasant – particularly with their bare chests pressed together. They had spent several nights together in a state of undress during their time in France, but it had never been as overtly sexual as the night now replaying itself in Hermione's mind. Clueless as she was to these sort of things, she had no idea just how good her girlfriend's mouth would feel against her; nipping and sucking in places she had never done so before. The brunette was pretty sure her chest now bore marks of Fleur's actions, but as the part-Veela was the only one who would ever see, it hardly mattered.

She had been decidedly nervous of returning the favour, but Fleur had quelled her worries with kind words and soft sighs of approval. Hermione of course knew what was expected of her, but it was a world apart from the cheap imagery she had observed in the magazines smuggled into her room at the start of the Summer. She smiled briefly at the memory of purchasing them; the poor spotty boy behind the counter looked almost as embarrassed as she had while paying for them. Returning her thoughts to the sleeping blonde, Hermione couldn't help but feel a glimmer of pride. She had pictured nightmare scenarios where she would lock up and curl into a ball, or something equally pathetic. Instead, she liked to think that she had performed rather well, given her inexperience.

She laughed again; her thoughts were making it sound as though she and Fleur had taken things as far as they could - that was still a long way off, of course. But for now, Hermione was satisfied. At the very least, any lingering questions as to where her preferences laid were put to rest; the feel of Fleur's breasts in her hands and the taste of the part-Veela's soft skin was like nothing she had ever imagined, and she knew then and there that no one else would ever be able to compare to the blue-eyed beauty she was lucky enough to call hers.

As was always the case when her thoughts lingered upon Fleur during the early hours, they somehow seemed to disturb the sleeping blonde. The part-Veela wrinkled her nose and let out a quiet murmur, before pressing her face further into the other girl's tangled hair. Hermione could instantly tell that her girlfriend was awake, and managed a small smile as the blonde attempted to find sleep again.

"Morning," she murmured, bringing a lazy hand up to rest upon Fleur's back and enjoying the warmth radiating from the older girl.

"Se rendormir," the blonde muttered, refusing to budge. Hermione just smiled.

"If I did that, I wouldn't be able to give you a good morning kiss," she pointed out. That got Fleur moving; though at a decidedly slow pace. The French witch heaved herself up with a groan, face totally obscured by a tangled blonde mess, before shifting slightly further up the bed and settling back down, head level with Hermione's.

"Is it really today?" she asked. Even through the curtain of hair, Hermione could see the pain barely hidden within those blue eyes.

"I'm afraid so," the brunette replied, glancing aside for a moment. "Doesn't feel like two minutes ago you were drawing me on that rock…"

"I would give anyz'ing to relive zese past weeks…" Fleur admitted, briefly biting her lip. Hermione smiled again.

"Why relive past memories when we should be making new ones?" she said, reaching up and gently parting the older girl's hair, finally revealing her face; still only barely visible now her eyes had adjusted to the dark. "What we have isn't over, Fleur."

"I know," the blonde replied, swallowing uncomfortably. "I know, 'Ermione, forgive me, I-"

"It's okay," Hermione cut in, using her still-raised finger to touch Fleur's lips. "I know."

"Should we…" Fleur began, continuing to look uneasy. "Should we get up?"

"It's still dark outside," the brunette pointed out. "I hardly think we need to worry about that yet." At this, Fleur seemed to visibly relax, and lowered her head back to the pillow beside Hermione's.

The darkened room was still for a moment, before she finally broke the silence; her usually confident voice decidedly quiet. "I don't know what I am doing, 'Ermione," she whispered shakily. "I do not know 'ow to 'andle zis…"

"You think I do?" Hermione chuckled, tightening her hold on the older girl slightly. "I didn't think I would even be in a relationship until long after Hogwarts." She smiled. "But making it up as we go has got us this far, I suppose."

"Oui, you 'ave a point," the blonde replied with a small nod. "Just…just promise me zat we will be alright…"

"Fleur…" the younger witch shifted, turning to lay on her side and look at her girlfriend, even though she was barely visible in the gloom. "Are you crying?"

"Désolé, je ne devrais pas être..." she mumbled, barely concealing a sob. Instantly, Hermione found her own eyes growing moist. She knew that Fleur hated showing what she perceived as weakness in front of her, and shifted closer, holding the other girl as tightly as she could.

"Fleur, we are going to be fine," the brunette stated firmly, glad the part-Veela couldn't see how hard she was fighting to control her own tears. "What do we have to be afraid of? Yes, being apart is not going to be pleasant – we both knew that. But I am never going to do anything that could jeopardise what I have with you. As clichéd as it sounds, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me, and I would break every school rule in the book if it meant I could stay with you."

"Coming from you," Fleur began, and instantly Hermione could tell she was smiling now. "Zat is certainly a big commitment." She sniffed, and let out a quiet sigh. "Merci, 'Ermione."

"It's not one-sided, you know," Hermione reminded her, pleased that her girlfriend had calmed down. "I don't want to hear anything about you succumbing to Bill's charms at work."

"'Ermione!" the blonde snapped, pulling her head back in shock. "'Ere we are, as good as naked in bed togez'er, and you bring _'im _up? Zat is disgusting." Hermione chuckled at Fleur's reaction, but the part-Veela reached up and cupped the brunette's face with both hands. "Whatever 'is feelings for me, it will never 'appen." Her touch became somewhat softer, gently stroking the younger witch's cheeks as she pulled her hands away. "And if 'e tries anyz'ing, you will be ze first to know."

"I'll owl you some interesting hexes you could try on him…" Hermione mused, before catching herself. "Wait, no. No, that'd be a horrible thing to do."

Fleur just chuckled to herself, and Hermione knew full well that her girlfriend was aware of her reddening cheeks. "Oh mon dieu, I bring out ze worst in you, ma cheri…"

"You certainly brought out something in me last night…" Hermione murmured before she could stop herself, cursing her lack of self-control moments later.

"Mmmm it was raz'er pleasant," the part-Veela purred, leaning a little closer. Hermione found her throat suddenly rather dry as her girlfriend's warm breath washed over her. "I never knew you 'ad such passion in you…"

"Clearly you also bring out the best in me," the brunette replied, pressing a gentle kiss to the other girl's nose.

"If last night was any indication, we can certainly agree on zat," Fleur replied, slowly snaking a hand across the younger witch's bare back.

However, any and all chance of things escalating instantly evaporated when there was a loud knock on the door. Fleur's hand paused, as did her breathing; clearly she was unsure as to whether they should respond. Hermione could just make out her bright blue eyes flitting from her, and back to the door. Sighing, she was just about to answer herself, when a voice sounded from the hallway.

"Oi, lovebirds!" It was unmistakably Ginny. "You two decent? Mum wants everyone up and dressed right now!" Before they could even answer, footsteps signalled the redhead's departure. However, rather than following the young girl's instructions, Hermione frowned and thought back to the previous night. They had spent a large portion of it on their rather intimate activities, and yet there had been no interruption from the other girl who shared their room. Perplexed, she turned back to Fleur.

"Did she even come in last night?" she asked. She felt Fleur shrug.

"I do not believe so," the blonde replied. "Per'aps she decided to give us some privacy, hm? I am certainly not complaining."

"Probably," Hermione mused. "Maybe she didn't want to put up with us being 'gross' again."

"You can be 'gross' wiz me any time you wish, ma cheri," Fleur replied, placing a quick kiss upon the other girl's cheek before pulling away and sliding from the bed. Instantly missing the warmth, Hermione had to wonder just why Fleur had got up so quickly. Naturally, her ulterior motive became all too clear when the part-Veela lit her wand. She gave her usual toothy grin, and it took Hermione a moment to realise that her bare chest was fully exposed. A year ago, she would have scrambled to cover herself, but now she just rolled her eyes and shook her head. After last night, she couldn't go back to being quite so prudish even if she tried.

Instead, she took the moment to rake her eyes over her girlfriend; completely nude save for a pair of rather expensive-looking lace panties.

"You know," Fleur began, resting a hand upon her hip. "You could just take a photo; it will last longer, after all."

"And have Harry or Ron – or _Ginny_ – find it?" Hermione replied, eyebrows raised. "No chance."

"Suit yourself," Fleur chuckled, before moving away and lighting the nearby lamp, bathing the room in a dim orange glow. Hermione watched, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she watched the beautiful part-Veela move back to the bed; every curve and flexing muscle accentuated by the lamp. The blonde gave a sly smile as she sat upon the edge of the bed, before reaching out and cupping the other girl's cheek with a soft hand. "We need to get dressed…"

"Yeah," Hermione murmured, more focussed on leaning into her girlfriend's touch. She took in a deep breath, before moving her head away. "Now you should probably get yourself covered up-" She gave a quiet chuckle. "-otherwise I won't be going anywhere."

Fleur's lips curved into a wide smile, before she leaned in and placed a soft kiss against the brunette's cheek. "Flatterer." And with that, she got back to her feet and set about locating her clothes. Hermione continued to watch for another few moments, before sighing and sliding from the bed. She trailed a finger across the blonde's shoulder blades as she passed, smirking when she felt the part-Veela shiver.

She cast her eyes around the room, savouring one last look at the place they had called home for just over a month. It was run-down, ancient, and in all likelihood the building should probably have been condemned long ago. And yet despite this, it held so many fond memories; all those late-night conversations with Ginny and Tonks; all those times the youngest Weasley had walked in on them and called them gross; and of course, the night just gone – the furthest they had ever taken their physical relationship. And soon it would be just Fleur here, all alone. They had spoken briefly about what the blonde intended to do after Hermione returned to Hogwarts, and she had revealed that Sirius had allowed her to remain indefinitely; though they both agreed this was more than likely just so he had someone to talk to other than Aurors and Mrs Weasley.

Shaking herself from the memories, Hermione finally set about finding her own clothes. Despite being incredibly neat people in isolation, whenever Fleur and Hermione shared a space they seemed to cancel each other out, and as such the room was something of a mess. She quickly located a plain white shirt hiding beneath a pair of Fleur's trousers, but was suddenly distracted by a large bang from the other side of the bed. Fleur was nowhere to be seen, and for a split second Hermione panicked – until she found a pair of jeans hitting her in the face.

"Zose are yours," Fleur's muffled voice said from floor level. The brunette knelt upon the bed and leant over, finding the part-Veela flat on her back and staring irritably up at the ceiling.

"Didn't quite fit you, dear?" Hermione teased, smirking at the slight blush upon the blonde's cheeks. "Your fault for having such long legs."

"You love my long legs and do not even zink about denying it," Fleur grumbled. The younger witch just laughed and shuffled backwards, getting to her feet again and resuming her clothes hunt. After pulling out a grey jacket – interrupted only by a bra being flung at the back of her head – she finally set about dressing herself. She didn't dare look in the mirror yet, knowing just how out of control her hair must have looked after the previous night's activities, and instead began sorting her own clothes from Fleur's, wondering just how they had ended up in shared piles on either side of their double bed. While Hermione neatly sorted them into two piles, Fleur continued to throw anything of her girlfriend's she found over the bed, with more than a few pairs of underwear landing on the brunette's head.

Eventually, all items of clothing were back with their rightful owner, and Hermione was free to begin packing the last of her things. Having done most of it the previous day, it was a simple matter of finding a few odds and ends that had migrated around the room. Hermione thought back to how she had seen Fleur holding her various possessions the previous day, and found herself mentally cringing at the thought of what must be going through the blonde's mind at that point. She seemed cheerful after their heart-to-heart only a short time ago, but the brunette knew her girlfriend far too well to fall for that.

Sighing, she snapped her trunk shut, and sat back upon the edge of the bed. Not moments later, she felt it dip behind her and a pair of arms wrap around her waist. Fleur pressed a brief kiss to her shoulder, before resting her chin upon it.

"I believe you 'ave forgotten somez'ing," she murmured. Hermione frowned, but her unspoken question was answered when she felt Fleur drop something into her hand. She looked down, and saw her red and gold prefect badge shining up at her. She had almost completely forgotten, and couldn't help but smile. "You are going to be ze best prefect your school 'as ever seen."

"It's a good thing the Triwizard Tournament was last year," the brunette mused, twirling the badge between her fingers. "I'd have set an awful example with all those times I snuck out to see you."

"I do not zink so," Fleur countered, giving her girlfriend a gentle squeeze. "You were simply encouraging…ah…what was it? 'International magical co-operation'?"

"I hardly think I can make a case for my encouragement of international magical co-operation involving sticking my tongue in your mouth," Hermione replied rather bluntly, but she laughed all the same. "Last year feels so long ago…"

"It was ze first year of ze rest of our lives," the blonde said, her tone becoming somewhat serious. "As you said just zis morning, why should we relive past memories when we should be making new ones, _togez'er_."

"True," Hermione nodded. "Well then, we'd better not keep Mrs Weasley waiting any longer."

"Oui, I imagine she is already pulling 'er 'air out," Fleur chuckled. "But first, I need to give you somez'ing." She withdrew her arms from the other girl's waist, and shuffled off the bed. Hermione followed suit, and stood before the part-Veela, looking a little confused.

"Something for me?" she asked, and the blonde nodded.

"Just somez'ing I want to do now," the taller girl explained. "In case we are not able to do so after now."

And with that, she rather roughly grabbed the brunette's shoulders, and pulled her into the hungriest of kisses. Before Hermione even had time to think about reciprocating, Fleur's tongue was all-but forcing entrance into her mouth, eliciting a low moan from the younger witch. Head spinning, she finally managed to wrap her arms around the blonde's waist, pressing their bodies closer together as she kissed back. She was briefly reminded of the kiss they had shared upon their reunion in France, but all thought of that was driven from her mind seconds later as Fleur reached up and gently cupped a breast, squeezing ever so slightly. Not to be out-done, Hermione moved a hand lower, giving the part-Veela's rear the same treatment. The blonde positively purred, and when they finally pulled away, looked into Hermione's eyes with nothing but unadulterated lust.

"If we do not get downstairs now…" Fleur whispered, her breathing laboured. "…I am not going to be able to control myself…"

"I don't want you to control yourself…" Hermione replied shakily, bringing her arms up to loosely encircle her girlfriend's neck. "Fleur, I-"

She was interrupted by another series of loud bangs on the door.

"If you two don't get out here now, Mum's going to start breathing fire!"

**~xxx~**

After the 'incident' involving Ginny being thrown down several flights of stairs by Fred & George's flying trunks, Hermione was starting to wonder whether Mrs Weasley really would start spewing flames. Fleur had briefly been whisked away by Sirius for a quick meeting with the other Order members, before returning and relaying the news that they were to travel to King's Cross under guard, much to Harry's chagrin. Despite everything, Hermione and Fleur couldn't help but exchange amused looks as people ran about the place, shouting up and down the stairs about lost socks and missing books. The brunette went positively scarlet when she heard Fleur boasting to Ron that 'her' Hermione had packed everything the previous day.

Hermione felt rather glad that they had had something of a 'farewell kiss' back in their room, as it would have been decidedly awkward to do so in the midst of the barely organised chaos that had overtaken the house. By this point, it was light outside, and nerves were growing increasingly frayed.

"Arthur, you and Fleur take Ron and Hermione," Mrs Weasley was saying rather quickly – and loudly; Mrs Black's portrait was screeching as usual, naturally. Her husband nodded, blinking tiredly and unable to even answer before she had turned away from him. "Harry, you're to come with me and Tonks."

"Fleur," a deep voice spoke, and both looked up to see Kingsley Shacklebolt approaching them. "Have you seen Sirius? He was in the kitchen a moment ago and I seem to have lost him."

"Ummm…" the French witch began in a rather exaggerated fashion, pointing an elegant finger at the hallway behind the tall wizard. Approaching them, scrambling over the large collection of various trunks, bags and a very unhappy looking caged Crookshanks, was a familiar shaggy black dog.

"Oh for heaven's sake, Sirius!" Mrs Weasley shouted, having spotted him. "Dumbledore said _no!_" Hermione rolled her eyes; she didn't have to remind Sirius of how risky this was, but she also knew there would be no changing his mind. The dog just looked up at Mrs Weasley, giving her the same look Sirius usually shot across the kitchen table when the redheaded woman said something he disagreed with. "Oh, honestly… Well, on your own head be it!"

The dog let out a happy bark, and without another word, Mrs Weasley wrenched the front door open and led Harry from the house. Hermione felt Fleur squeeze her hand, having almost forgotten she was even holding it in all the commotion. She looked up and found those bright blue eyes watching her carefully, a maelstrom of emotions swirling behind them. The brunette understood; Fleur wanted to be excited for Hermione's new school term, was upset at their impending separation, amused by the antics going on around them, and likely worried about her safety. It was easy to forget everything going on in the world in moments such as these, but it didn't change things.

Before she could stop her train of thought, her mind's eye was met with images of Cedric Diggory's lifeless body laying in the grass; of Death Eaters marching through the tents at the Quidditch World Cup; of Harry, covered in dirt and blood, the Triwizard Cup still clutched in his hand. She blinked the memories away, and returned Fleur's gesture with a squeeze of her own. She knew Hogwarts was the safest place they could possibly be, but that barely set her mind at ease; Fleur would still be at risk. But she could hardly drag the blonde to Hogwarts and sit her in the castle for a year; she had a life of her own, after all.

She sighed, and was about to speak when Mr Weasley clapped his hands together.

"Right, I think that's enough of a wait," he said, seeming a little more awake now. "We'll be taking a different route, so stick close. Is your luggage with the rest?"

"'Ermione's was ze first down 'ere," Fleur replied with a small smile.

"Fantastic," Mr Weasley replied with a nod. "Right then, let's go!"

As they emerged into the bleak morning sunlight, Hermione shivered and zipped her jacket up a little more. Fleur chuckled and withdrew her hand, before wrapping her arm firmly around the other girl's shoulders. The brunette smiled and leant into her girlfriend as they walked, Ron and Mr Weasley a short distance ahead of them.

"Who's taking Ginny?" Ron was asking. "And Fred and George?"

"Lupin's taking the lot of them," Mr Weasley replied. "Mad-Eye went on a little ahead of mum, Harry and Tonks."

"And Sirius," Ron replied with a chuckle. Once again, Hermione rolled her eyes.

**~xxx~**

About half an hour later, they arrived at King's Cross, and Hermione had to stifle a laugh at Fleur's behaviour. Having never seen the station before, Fleur spent most of the time craning her neck to look up at the ceiling of the old building. It reminded her of the first few weeks at Hogwarts last year; showing Fleur around the castle and grounds, watching her take it all in. Despite initially complaining of the cold, the French witch seemed have gained an appreciation for the school. And now she had that same look in her eyes; hints of the same sparkle usually reserved for Hermione readily apparent.

"Magnifique…" she breathed, earning a smile from her girlfriend.

"And people say muggles can't do anything right," Hermione replied with a smirk.

"My family's estate was built by muggles," Fleur said with a shrug. "Zey may not 'ave a clue 'ow ze world really works, but no one can deny zey 'ave a talent for building zings."

"Well of course," the brunette replied with a laugh. "They don't have wands to do it for them."

"Right, I think the coast is clear," Mr Weasley's voice snapped them from their little bubble, and they looked over to where Ron and his father was standing by the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten. Hermione took Fleur's hand again and led her over, reminding herself that this was all new to the blonde. She realised with surprise that she had never asked just how Beauxbatons students got to school; she couldn't imagine that carriage of theirs flying around France picking everyone up.

As Ron disappeared through the barrier, Hermione felt a cold rush through her body; there were so many things she wanted to say; to ask. And now, they were but a few steps away from the final barrier between them and their separation. She didn't even have to look at Fleur to know that similar thoughts were running through her mind. She shifted her hand and brought it to the part-Veela's waist, who mirrored her movements and did the same.

"Are you ready?" the blonde asked quietly, and Hermione just shook her head, gripping the part-Veela's waist tighter.

"Come on, girls," Mr Weasley said, and that seemed to snap Hermione back to reality.

She nodded, and side by side with Fleur, stepped through the stone barrier. The smell of the Hogwarts Express was immediate, even from a distance. They paused as Fleur coughed for a moment, clearly taken off-guard by the thick steam. Hermione surprised a smile, and watched as her girlfriend wrinkled her nose, throwing the waiting train a dirty look.

"Not only does it take my girlfriend from me," she grumbled. "But it attempts to choke me first!"

"Well it is a steam engine," Hermione pointed out. "Hence…_steam?_"

"Very funny," Fleur replied, stepping forward a little as Mr Weasley joined them. The three of them rounded the corner onto the platform proper, greeted by the sight of countless students and parents saying their goodbyes. Ron was a little way ahead, walking towards Harry, Mrs Weasley and Tonks, who were stood talking to a rather surly looking luggage porter. As they drew closer, Hermione realised with mixed amusement and surprise that the porter was none-other than Mad-Eye Moody himself, pushing a trolley heavily laden with their trunks. Tonks gave them a wave as they neared, but Hermione was only half paying attention. As they passed other students, she was acutely aware of their whispers.

"_Isn't that Fleur Delacour?"_ a Fourth Year boy said.

"_Look, they're still together!"_ an excited Second Year girl squealed.

"_I thought it was some kind of joke,"_ a Fifth Year was saying to her friend.

"_Bet Granger didn't get any homework done all Summer,"_ another boy said. _"I wouldn't."_

At that last comment, Hermione felt Fleur's arm tighten around her – though whether it was to restrain herself or Hermione, she wasn't sure. By the time they finally reached the group, Moody had nearly finished unloading their luggage, and even he seemed to be rather wary of Crookshanks, who was currently wearing a scowl that could give Professor Snape a run for his money. It wasn't long before Lupin and the others arrived, and before Hermione knew what was happening, people were saying their goodbyes. Breathing suddenly became rather difficult, and it wasn't until she looked up to find Fleur's face blurred that she realised there were tears forming. The blonde stood before her, taking both hands within her own.

"I feel as zough I 'ave so many zings I 'ave forgotten to say," Fleur murmured, her normally calm voice rather shaky.

"Me too," Hermione replied weakly, looking down for a moment. "I'll write to you as soon as I get there."

"Bien." The blonde nodded. "And find out when your 'Ogsmeade visits are as soon as you can."

"I will," the younger girl said. "And you make sure you stay safe. Fleur, I…" She paused, biting back a sob. "Fleur, I can't lose you. Please don't do anything that could get you hurt."

"And ze same to you," Fleur said with a tiny smile, before it faded and she let out a shuddering breath. "Oh 'Ermione…"

They were interrupted by the shrill sound of the whistle signalling the train's departure. Fleur forced another smile.

"Time for you to go…" she whispered. Hermione looked to the side, and saw the remaining students on the platform dashing for the carriage doors.

"Fleur…" the brunette murmured, staring longingly into those blue eyes. "I love you."

"And I, you," the part-Veela replied, and before either knew what they were doing, their lips were joined in a deep kiss. It wasn't the first time they had kissed in front of many people, but it was the first time it had been one of 'those' kisses – needy and passionate, full of everything they wanted to say but had little time for. Mrs Weasley cleared her throat rather awkwardly, and they slowly parted, eyes never leaving the other's.

"Remember what I told you when I left 'Ogwarts, 'Ermione," Fleur whispered. "No matter 'ow long we are parted, I will be waiting for you." She closed her eyes. "À bientôt, mon amour."

And with that, she slowly pulled her arms from Hermione's waist, and took a step back from her. Hermione's heart broke when she saw tears were streaming down the blonde's cheeks; she wanted nothing more than to kiss them away, but their time was up. The platform was almost entirely devoid of students now, and finally, feeling as though her legs were made of stone, Hermione took a step backwards towards the train. Fleur clasped her hands together, and gave the best encouraging smile she could manage, nodding to the other girl.

Keeping her eyes on the blonde, Hermione at last set foot onto the carriage, closing the door behind her; the last to do so. No sooner had she done so, than the train lurched forwards and began to move. By this point, Tonks, Lupin and the others were standing beside Fleur, waving along with all the other parents and relatives. But Hermione's eyes remained solely fixed upon Fleur, watching as her girlfriend slowly disappeared from view, obscured by other people long before the train even cleared the platform.

The brunette let out a shaky breath, and leant an arm against the window, closing her eyes and gripping the golden pendant around her neck through her clothes. She had not once taken it off since Fleur had given it to her at Christmas, and she had no intention of doing so.

"…are you okay?" a voice asked. Hermione looked up slowly, her cheeks becoming red with embarrassment when she saw that nearly all her friends were watching her. Ginny – the one who had spoken – was closest.

"I will be," the brunette replied, swallowing uncomfortably. Fred and George excused themselves, and Harry glanced up and down the carriage.

"Shall we…shall we go and find a compartment, then?" he asked, sounding a little nervous at addressing a clearly distraught Hermione.

"Er…" Ron looked from the bespectacled boy and back to Hermione.

"We…um…" She swallowed again and cleared her throat, blinking the tears from her eyes. "We're supposed to go to the Prefect Carriage."

"Oh," Harry replied simply. Hermione could tell he was angry, but more than likely because of her own state, he clearly tried to hide it as best he could. She understood his annoyance, but she was in no mood for his immaturity.

"Believe me, Harry," she said in a very un-Hermione-like way. "If I could swap places with you right now, I would."

"No no, it's fine," Harry replied, holding his hands up. "We…um…"

"We'll save you seats," Ginny said helpfully. "Come on, Harry." And with that, she led him off down the corridor, leaving Hermione alone with Ron, who was looking incredibly awkward.

"Come on," Hermione said, trying her hardest to supress her emotions. "Let's try to make this quick."


	13. Prefects, Roommates & Veela Love Mist

**Harry Potter and all related characters and places are owned by JK Rowling - I just make them dance for my own amusement.**

**Yo dawg, I heard you wanted some Fleur POV so I put some Fleur POV in your...wait, that doesn't work. Yes, I finally acquiesced to your requests and have some whole sections from Fleur's point of view. There is actually a very good reason why it's only happened now. Essentially, I much prefer to write Fleur from an outside point of view, as it makes a lot of her quirks and silly comments that much more surprising. However, with the two of them parted now, we're offered a twofold reason to split the POV - firstly, it's a way of showing what's going on where she is, without it simply being explained in letters to Hermione, and secondly, it's a nice chance to show her interacting with people her own age (and hey, you guys all wanted more Tonks, right?) **

**People have commented Fleur and Hermione's physical relationship is progressing rather slowly - you have to remember, at this point, Hermione is only fifteen years old. Sure, she might want to take things further, but I can't see Hermione Granger of all people rushing into something like that unless she's absolutely sure she's ready. That, and writing fiction depicting a minor in such a situation is a big no-no in the UK.  
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**Although one thing I will say is that YES - at some point they will do the deed, and YES it will actually be depicted in this fic series. Maybe I'll even make it incredibly smutty. If you're good.  
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**~xxx~**

By the time the Hogwarts Express had disappeared from view, Fleur already felt as though she had few tears left to shed. She was well aware that with the train gone, plenty of eyes were again directed at her. But for once she cared little for how other people saw her; what did it matter now, anyway? Around her, people began talking again; parents joking with each other about having another school term's worth of peace; arranging their own get-togethers now that their children were no longer around; promises of being shown that newly decorated living room that they simply_ had _to see; muggle parents joking with wizarding parents about the sort of child-related matters that transcended their two worlds. It all merged into a cacophony of sound, and before long, Fleur simply ignored it. Her eyes hadn't moved from the last point the train had been visible from; some of the steam it produced was still hanging in the air, slowly thinning into nothingness.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, but didn't even turn to see who it was.

"Fleur, you okay?" It was Tonks. Slowly, the blonde turned to face the older witch, and let out a breath she hadn't even realised she was holding.

"She will be safe," the part-Veela replied quietly. "Zat is ze most important zing, non?"

"That's not what I asked," Tonks continued, but Fleur just shook her head, unable to meet the other woman's eyes.

"I am fine," she said, not quite believing it herself. "You need not worry yourself." She glanced over to the group, who by now were all trying their best not to stare. "I will see you back at ze house."

"Fleur, you really shouldn't…"

But before she even had a chance to finish her sentence, the blonde had turned on her heel and was heading back towards the barrier to King's Cross. The last thing she wanted at that point in time was people's sympathy; nothing they could say or do was going to fix the ache already spreading through her. She effortlessly slipped between the crowds of people, quickly moving away from the other Order members. As she passed, she was well aware of several more whispers from those watching her, and she had to bite back a bitter laugh; a year ago she would have loved the attention she was receiving. But right now, she would have preferred to simply vanish through floor of the platform.

Without Hermione by her side, King's Cross itself had lost much of it's appeal. The muggle station was no longer grand or impressive – it was just another building, full of more people that would probably stare at her as she went by. Again, she resented the way all eyes nearby seemed to turn to watch her; did they really not have anything better to do? Part of her wanted to find a secluded corner and simply apparate back to Grimmauld Place, but even as she began to contemplate it, Fleur decided no; that would simply confine her to that horrible old house all the sooner. Instead, she decided to take the long route. She remembered the way, having watched the passing buildings with interest as they had been driven there. The blonde had often wondered how the muggles coped with such prolonged journeys, but at that moment, a nice long walk seemed rather appealing. Perhaps it would give her time to clear her head; to banish the decidedly dark thoughts running through it.

Stepping out onto the street, Fleur saw with even more distaste that the sky had clouded over and it was spitting with rain. The tiny drops of water were irritating more than anything else, and she found herself wishing Hermione's old scarf was around her neck.

'_Or her arms_,' she thought bitterly, tucking her hands into her coat pockets and continuing on her way. She hated herself for having descended into this state so quickly, but the hollow feeling spreading throughout her was impossible to ignore. More and more, Fleur was beginning to understand the tales she had been told of Veela and their 'mates.' She still balked at the more extravagant myths – Veela dying or going insane when separated from their partners – but like most tall tales, there was clearly a shred of truth at it's heart. And hers was already breaking.

Following the route she remembered, the blonde found herself walking alongside a small park area. Despite the rain, several young children were happily playing, their parents watching from nearby. It brought a brief smile to the part-Veela's lips, seeing people behaving so carefree. They had no idea of what was to come, and yet somehow, she envied them. Dark days were ahead, whether the muggles were aware of it or not, and yet their lives continued as normal. And even if it did come to another war, it was likely that from the point of view of the non-wizarding world, nothing would be amiss. Huge battles would be seen as gas leaks; terrifying acts of dark magic would be interpreted as unusual weather patterns. Despite everything, Fleur could see the appeal of living in ignorance. If she and Hermione were muggles – as they had both initially assumed of each other – then perhaps things would be different. Despite the Dark Lord's hatred of muggles, directly targeting them would serve him no real purpose. As insane as it sounded, had they been muggles, they would likely be a lot safer than they currently were.

She smiled again, thinking back to their time together after their first meeting. Everything had been so much simpler. Yes, Hermione had been incredibly young, and neither had spoken freely of their rather sudden feelings, but it had been nice – living in that little isolated bubble, simply enjoying each other's company. While the summer holidays had been a wonderful experience, the spectre of what was to come had hung over everything. Fleur wondered if it would always be like this; taking what they could get, knowing that the next day they could be dead.

She shook her head, her now damp hair swinging loosely around her. Hermione was safe; Hogwarts could offer her protection Fleur could not, and for a brief moment she hated herself for it. Letting out a harsh chuckle, she shook her head again, not caring if anyone saw her rather odd internal argument. This had to be the 'legendary Veela protectiveness' – as Hermione had once called it – shining through. Still, she could not help but feel useless. She had lived her entire life having everything handed to her on a silver platter; maybe she was just being selfish because now she couldn't get what she wanted? No, that was unfair to both her and Hermione – she cared for the brunette far too much to simply see her as another thing to take for granted.

And that was the truth of the matter – Hermione meant so much to her. The younger witch was the reason for everything; the reason she was in Britain; the reason she had joined the Order; and technically, the reason she was walking down a quiet street on a rainy London morning, completely alone save for a few pigeons that scattered as soon as she drew near.

Not quite sure how she had ended up there, Fleur found herself walking along the edge of the Thames, having long since given up on returning to Grimmauld Place any time soon. She traced a finger along the stone wall beside this section of the river, looking out across the water. Reflecting the dull sky, it was a uniform grey, perhaps with a slight brown tinge to it. She was sure that Hermione would have had a plethora of interesting information regarding the river, and the muggle buildings on either side of it. But as it was, just like King's Cross had been, it was thoroughly unremarkable. Despite her disinterest, she paused, leaning both arms upon the wall and hanging her head.

It wasn't until a group of tourists approached, wanting to take their picture with the river behind them – apparently one of the buildings on the opposite bank was some sort of landmark – that Fleur decided to continue on her way to the house. By now, she imagined that the other Order members had returned home. She could picture Mad-Eye telling them all that Death Eaters had probably murdered her, or Mrs Weasley fretting about her getting lost. As the rain eased off, the blonde let out a quiet sigh.

Fleur had never actually asked Hermione just how long it took to reach the school, but she hoped that wherever her girlfriend was, she wasn't feeling quite as miserable as she was.

**~xxx~**

As evening fell, somewhere deep in the mountains of Scotland, watching the sun sinking lower and lower in the sky, Hermione Granger sat, looking thoroughly unimpressed. She was under the distinct impression that had she spoken up, things could have moved along a lot faster. However, being in no mood to talk to anybody right now, she instead watched with bored eyes as Ernie Macmillan bickered with Draco Malfoy. She would have liked to have said she was surprised with Malfoy's appointment as Prefect, but something told her a certain relative of his on the Hogwarts Governor's Board might have had something to do with it. The blonde boy looked thoroughly smug, and Hermione could almost feel the hatred radiating from Ron, who was sat beside her, clenching and unclenching his fists.

"I mean, I can see why _Granger_ was appointed," Malfoy was saying. "She'll have eaten the rulebook already, I'm sure."

"Shut it, Malfoy," Ron spat, and the Slytherin turned his attention to him.

"But Weaselby here," Malfoy continued, gesturing towards Ron. "Must have been some sort of clerical issue, hm?"

"I'm warning you," Ron growled, but Malfoy just laughed.

"Oh come off it," he cackled. "You wouldn't dare. Not without Granger's half-breed pet hanging around."

It took the combined strength of Ron, Ernie Macmillan and Anthony Goldstein to hold Hermione back, leaving just enough time for a very pale Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson to flee the compartment.

**~xxx~**

A short while later, they were finally reunited with Harry and Ginny, though Hermione was still in a foul mood. She unceremoniously hurled her bag onto a seat, before slumping down next to it and folding her arms. She barely registered that Harry and Ginny had company. She recognised Luna Lovegood, having met her briefly the previous year. The first time she had seen her, she had been sat in the Gryffindor Third Year Girl's Dormitory, making a necklace from butterbeer bottletops. Hermione grimaced at the memory; she had been there asking Ginny to teach her to dance mere hours before the Yule Ball. Try as she might, she couldn't clear her mind's eye of images depicting Fleur's smiling face as they twirled across the dance floor. It wasn't until Ginny spoke that she snapped out of it, blinking for a moment and looking round.

"What happened to you two?" she asked. Ron looked from his sister to Hermione, then back again.

"Malfoy," he said darkly.

"He attacked you?" Harry asked, suddenly sitting up straighter. Ron just shook his head, looking a little uneasy.

"_You_ attacked _him?_" At Ginny's question, Ron looked even more uncomfortable.

"Uh…well…" he stammered, looking down at the brunette. "Hermione did."

There were wide eyes all around, though Hermione knew this was Luna's natural expression anyway.

"You did _what?_" Ginny asked, her voice a mixture of surprise and admiration. Hermione let out a sigh and ran a hand through her messy hair.

"Well I was _going_ to hex him through the window, but Ron stopped me," she muttered matter-of-factly.

"Did he…" Harry began, looking a little nervous. "Did he say something about Fleur?"

"Obviously," Luna said, and all eyes turned to her. Her face was hidden behind her issue of the Quibbler – a magazine Hermione had only ever heard of. Harry and Ron exchanged puzzled looks; Hermione had to remind herself that Ron didn't even know who Luna was.

"Um…" Ginny cocked her head to the side. "Why is it obvious, Luna?"

"Because her Veela thrall is looking very angry, don't you think?" the Ravenclaw said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. Hermione, however, had little time for Luna's nonsense.

"Fleur is the Veela," she said flatly. "Not me."

"Well of course," Luna replied. "You don't look at all like one."

"Then what…" But Hermione's question died in her throat as Luna lowered her magazine, revealing an incredibly peculiar sight. Over her eyes, the blonde was wearing a bizarre pair of glasses; one lens was blue, the other a bright pink. The frame was a bright gold colour, finished off with what looked almost like feathers on either side.

"What are those?" Neville asked. If Hermione hadn't been so intrigued, she would have been startled – she hadn't even noticed their fellow Gryffindor was in the compartment with them.

"Prototype Spectrespecs," Luna answered in that same matter-of-fact voice, as though she were puzzled as to why no one else knew. "Father says they won't be ready until next year, but these work just fine."

"What do they…um…_do_, exactly?" Ginny asked, sounding not entirely convinced. Hermione couldn't blame here; the 'device' looked incredibly flimsy. Like the sort of thing she would have made at her old muggle school as a child.

"All manner of interesting things," Luna replied dreamily. "Would you like to try?"

Hermione just rolled her eyes and folded her arms again, not willing to pay any more attention to something so stupid. She turned her thoughts back to Malfoy's words; just how much of that could she expect this year? She was teased by the Slytherins enough already, but now they had so much more ammunition – the lies Rita Skeeter had written about her last year, the fact that Fleur was part-Veela, and the most obvious of all – that she had essentially revealed to the whole school that she was a lesbian. Last year, she had been almost proud – standing there with Fleur at her side. But now, without that support, she was terrified.

"She's not wrong, you know," Ginny said, sounding somewhat surprised. Hermione looked up to find Ginny staring back at her, eyes obscured by the Spectrespecs.

"About what?" Hermione snapped, a little more harshly than she had intended.

"You've got a thrall," Ginny said. "Or…something, at least."

"Only Veela have thralls, Ginny," the brunette replied with an exasperated sigh. "Those glasses are probably just enchanted to make people glow or something."

"Then explain why you're the only one with a sparkly gold mist around you," the redhead said flatly, and instantly Hermione's annoyance gave way to curiosity.

"…excuse me?" She sat up, leaning forward a little to look more closely at the glasses.

"Move your arm around," Ginny instructed. Hermione hesitated, but did as she was told, moving her right arm up and down a little.

"It's definitely following you," the youngest Weasley said. Throughout the entire exchange, Harry, Ron and Neville remained silent, looking utterly baffled by what was going on in front of them.

"Well…there's a chance that…" Hermione began, desperately trying to remember the book on Veela Fleur had given her. It was in her trunk, but she didn't want to go digging through it in the middle of the train journey. "It's true that when Veela are…ah…romantically involved with someone, their thrall will focus on that person alone. You must have noticed that after a while, boys stopped walking into things whenever she was near?"

"I just assumed they were getting used to her," Ron said, shrugging. "I never did…"

"That's because you're a tactless moron," Ginny replied sweetly. "Go on, Hermione."

"I suppose it's possible I've…um…brought some of it with me? I don't know…" She shook her head, trying to work it all out.

"You mean Fleur's given you a Veela thrall?" Harry asked, but Hermione quickly shook her head.

"No, no it's still Fleur's," she said. "I'm not going to have boys tripping over themselves around me, if that's what you mean." She remained silent for a few moments, before a look of realisation dawned upon her. "That must have been it…"

"'It'?" Ginny asked, and Hermione quickly nodded.

"Oh, it's nothing really. Over the Summer, Harry- …well, let's just say Harry got rather annoyed about something, but Fleur came in and he seemed to calm down, and he said afterwards that he felt something like warm air flying past him into the room. That must have been Fleur's thrall…um…coming back to me, I suppose…"

"Okay, so when Fleur hangs around you, her thrall is…what? Keeping you warm?" Ron asked, still clearly baffled by all this.

"I really don't know what it's doing," Hermione replied, shaking her head. "It doesn't have the same effect on me as it does on boys. I can only guess that after being with her for so long, some remnant of it has stayed…um…attached?"

"Sounds pretty creepy," Ron continued, pulling a face. "I mean, you've got this weird Veela love mist around you all day every day now?"

"I don't know how long it will last," the brunette replied, leaning back in her seat. "But…nevermind, that's all I know."

But she knew exactly what she wanted to say. A part of Fleur was still with her, whether the blonde was aware of it or not. That simple fact calmed her nerves, at least slightly. She made a mental note to thank Luna at some point; as soon as she knew exactly what it was she was thanking her for.

After that, the conversation briefly turned back to the subject of Prefects. Harry was just as unsurprised that Malfoy had got the position, and Hermione got the distinct impression that Harry was already dreading his own first meeting with the blonde boy – no doubt Malfoy would gleefully point out that Harry hadn't made Prefect himself. Harry himself looked rather tired, and Hermione had to wonder just how much stress her friend was under. She had been so focussed on saying goodbye to Fleur that she had paid very little attention to anyone else, but now she had calmed down somewhat, she was very aware of just how unwell Harry looked. He didn't look ill, at least medically speaking, but he had the bearing of someone with a lot on their mind, and none of it pleasant.

A short while later, Ron got to his feet and mentioned patrolling the corridors. Hermione nodded and made to follow, but Ron stopped her.

"You sure that's a good idea?" he asked. "As much as I'd love to let Malfoy off over a bridge, I don't think that's the best way to start your Prefect career."

Hermione stared at him for a few seconds. It was a surreal moment; Ron being the voice of reason and advising Hermione not to harm someone, something that was clearly not lost on Ginny, who sniggered.

"_Get you_," she teased. "Ronny the Prefect."

Hermione managed a small smile, but conceded with a nod and sat back down. She couldn't believe she was doing this, but she was also rather afraid of what she would do if they did have a run-in with Malfoy. However, mere minutes after Ron had left, they were treated to the sight of Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle passing by the compartment. The three Slytherins stopped, as if contemplating opening the door. Malfoy shot Harry a dirty look, but all it took was a glare from Hermione and the three of them quickly made themselves scarce.

"You know, Hermione," Ginny said, looking rather impressed. "I think you may have got Malfoy off your case for the entire year before it's even started."

"I hope so," the brunette replied with a sigh. "I'm scared of what I'd do if he said something about Fleur again…"

"Well you did punch him during Third Year," Harry pointed out. "Maybe I should start taking tips from you."

"Physical violence is never the answer," Hermione stated calmly, but both Ginny and Harry just looked disbelieving. "…alright, unless it's Malfoy."

"Well, I think we can all agree that being Fleur Delacour's girlfriend has had nothing but a good influence on you," Ginny chuckled.

Now there was something Hermione could definitely agree with.

Not long after Ron returned from patrolling the corridors – he mentioned overhearing Malfoy refer to Hermione as 'that maniac' – they all got changed into their robes. As much as Hermione was dreading so much time without Fleur, as soon as she slipped the familiar uniform on, she felt somewhat more at ease. It felt like returning to your own bed after a while in an unfamiliar one – which ironically, she expected to quite literally experience later that evening. The brunette took a moment to admire her Prefect badge, pinned neatly to her robes.

'_I am so proud of you…_'

Hermione blinked. She looked around for a second, making sure she had definitely imagined Fleur's voice. She shook her head, pushing the memories from her mind. If she carried on like this, every single little thing was going to remind her of Fleur.

**~xxx~**

After arriving back at Grimmauld Place, Fleur headed straight to her room. As she had assumed, the other Order members had indeed returned. Mrs Weasley stepped out of the kitchen to greet her, but the part-Veela just remained silent as she passed, climbing the stairs without a word. Though upon reflection, making a beeline for the room she had shared with Hermione was perhaps not the greatest of ideas. Stepping into the now familiar room, the blonde was struck by just how empty it seemed. Her belongings were still in a pile from where they had been separated from Hermione's, and the bed hadn't even been made. For a moment, she contemplated just getting into the bed and burying her head within Hermione's pillow, caring little for how strange it may seem. But she resisted, simply sitting upon it instead and closing her eyes.

The blonde knew she should be focussing on making sure she was ready to start work the next day, but she couldn't bring herself to move. However, not two minutes later, there was a loud knock, and before Fleur could even decide whether to answer or not, the door opened.

"Hey." It was Tonks. She gave what Fleur assumed was meant to be a reassuring smile, before stepping further into the room. "Gave us a bit of a scare when we got back and you weren't here."

"I wanted to be alone," the French witch replied quietly. "Is zat so wrong?"

"Oh, no not at all," Tonks said, running a hand through her hair. Clearly she was nervous. "It's just…well, Mad-Eye was going crazy, you know..."

"'E is already crazy," Fleur replied flatly, closing her eyes again. "I appreciate your concern, but I am fine. I just want to be alone."

"Oh." If anything, the purple-haired witch sounded a little disappointed. "Well, it's just…um...there's going to be more Order members arriving later, and…" She looked away, biting her bottom lip. "Well…Molly wanted me to ask if I could move my stuff in here? It's just I'd much rather share a room with someone I know, and isn't…you know…some terrifying old guy."

Fleur looked up at the other woman, puzzled as to just why she was so nervous. Did she really think Fleur would explode at her? Having said that, she had done nothing to indicate that she _wouldn't_ do such a thing – she _had_ left them rather abruptly that morning.

"I would like zat," she said, managing a small smile. "Ze company would be nice."

"Great!" Tonks seemed incredibly relieved. "I'll just get everything. I kinda piled all my crap into one big bag." But then her smile faded for a second. "Oh, but I…ah…just so you know, I'm not trying to get into your pants or anything like that."

"Only 'Ermione 'as permission to do zat," Fleur replied, and now she really was smiling. "I did not know you were interested in women, Tonks."

"What?" The other witch looked shocked. "Oh! No, no I'm not, I just thought you might think…ah…nevermind, I'll get my stuff."

And with that, she left – but not before tripping over her own untied bootlaces and nearly falling into the corridor. Fleur shook her head and continued to smile; at least she would have a distraction.

**~xxx~**

By the time Hermione had finished seeing to the First Year Gryffindor girls, she was exhausted. She waved a half-hearted goodnight to the Sixth and Seventh Year Prefects as they all headed to their own dormitories, before retiring to her own. She contemplated sending a letter to Fleur, but she knew it was pointless – Fleur would know that they had arrived safely, and it was far too late to be wandering the castle. In any case, Fleur had promised to send the first letter. Hermione wasn't sure how frequent their correspondence would be – as much as they were likely to miss each other, writing every single day would just be pointless, and so she assumed some sort of weekly system would take hold.

Once again berating herself silently for thinking of Fleur too much, she pushed open the door to the Fifth Year Girls' Dormitory. Lavender Brown and Fay Dunbar were already asleep, but Parvati Patil was sat upon the edge of her bed reading a folded copy of the Daily Prophet. She was already dressed for bed, but smiled sleepily at Hermione as she entered. The brunette couldn't help but feel relieved; she had heard already some rather unsavoury comments regarding herself, Harry and Ron from various students.

"Hello, Hermione," Parvati said, placing the paper down beside her.

"Hi," Hermione replied, moving past the other girl towards her own bed.

"Prefect duties already worn you out?" the Indian girl teased, and Hermione just shook her head.

"You have no idea," the brunette sighed, flopping onto her own bed. "I swear we were never as excitable as that during our first year."

"Sure we were," Parvati replied with a smirk. "We just like to think we were mature."

"Maybe," Hermione said, smiling too. She shrugged off her robes and folded them over the back of a nearby chair. "Well, you were all excitable – I was a complete bore."

"Goodness, someone's changed over the Summer," the other girl laughed. "Why do I get the impression one of our guests from last year has something to do with it?"

"I'm quite sure I don't know what you're talking about," the brunette replied with a chuckle, shedding her sweater and loosening her tie, before undoing the first two buttons of her shirt. "Of course, if one of our foreign guests _did_ have anything to do with it, I'm quite sure I would have had a lovely time with her and her parents, before finally introducing her to my own."

"Well for the record, I still think you two make the sweetest couple," Parvati gushed. "If there's one good thing that came from last year, it's you and Fleur."

"Thanks," Hermione said with a nod, feeling her cheeks reddening slightly. "I still can't quite believe we're together…"

"Well, as long as you don't try to jump me in the night, I'm fine with it," Parvati teased, and Hermione feigned a look of shock.

"I may be a lesbian, but I'm not _that_ desperate," she shot back, and both girls laughed.

It was nice, Hermione mused, to simply laugh with a friend. She wasn't as close to the girls in her dormitory as she was to the likes of Harry, Ron or Ginny, but in many ways that helped – simply chatting to someone about school and relationships was surprisingly pleasant, especially considering the current state of affairs beyond the school's walls.

"Parvati, do you…" Hermione began, biting her lip for a moment. "You do believe Harry, right?"

"I…" Parvati looked away, glancing down at the Daily Prophet beside her. "Yes, I do." She shook her head solemnly as her expression darkened. "I don't want to, but…I trust Dumbledore, and I trust you."

"Thank you," Hermione replied, smiling briefly.

She finished getting ready for bed in silence, watching out of the corner of her eye as Parvati went back to her newspaper. Given what she had just been told, she assumed the other girl was doing what she did: reading it to see just how much – or how little – of what was really going on got reported. She could have debated the morality of hiding an awful truth from the public, but she was too tired for such a thing. Sighing, Hermione sat back upon her bed and closed her eyes for a moment.

And then to her own surprise, she smiled.

Yes, the most important person in her life was miles away - and likely in a far worse state than she, given Fleur's Veela heritage – but even so, Hermione found it hard to feel completely miserable. She was back at Hogwarts, a place that felt more like home than her parents' house ever had. Without even getting under the covers or extinguishing her nearby lamp, the brunette slowly drifted into a surprisingly peaceful sleep, her mind awash with fantasies of a French exchange student sneaking into her dormitory in the dead of night, comforting her with a lyrical voice and a wide, toothy grin.


	14. This Means War

**Harry Potter and all related characters and places are owned by JK Rowling - I just make them dance for my own amusement.**

**You all wanted to see what would happen when Hermione and Umbridge locked horns - I hope it doesn't disappoint.  
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**And here's an interesting factoid for you - this fic is now nearly as long as Entwined when it was finished. And we're not even halfway through yet :)  
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**~xxx~**

The next morning, Hermione discovered – in a rather unpleasant fashion – that not everyone had as much faith in Harry as Parvati Patil did. After acting rather aloof when Hermione had greeted her, Lavender Brown had revealed just what she thought about Harry and Dumbledore's insistence of Lord Voldemort's return. Though despite her rudeness, she could do nothing but look shocked and squeak after Hermione snapped at her to shut her mouth and bother someone else. She knew it was far from an appropriate response. She was a prefect; someone that was meant to be looked up to and set an example. And outside of that, the last thing they needed now was to start fighting each other. Isn't that exactly what Voldemort wanted, anyway? Still, just as it had done on the train, it felt good to let off some steam. The brunette didn't _think_ she was missing Fleur terribly yet, but perhaps it was only subconscious at the moment; if so, it would definitely explain her increasingly short temper.

All the same, it quickly became clear that she was not the only one with a short fuse. Harry seemed more stressed than ever, but after Ron had explained the goings on in the Boy's Dormitory the previous night, Hermione couldn't blame him. She didn't appreciate him taking his frustration out on her, but at least it wasn't entirely unexplained.

As breakfast came to an end, Hermione was still regarding her new timetable. She would never admit it – prefects had to be respectful, after all – but even she was dreading their final lesson of the day. While she had usually scoffed at Harry and Ron's past accusations that certain teachers were out to get them, something about Professor Umbridge just didn't sit well with her. Whether it was her overly polite manner of speaking, or the way she had talked as though they were all five years old, Hermione was definitely wary of her. The only question that remained was whether she was simply a thinly-veiled plant by the Ministry of Magic to fill a vacant post, or whether she could actually cause serious trouble at Hogwarts.

Just as she was tucking the piece of parchment into her pocket, a voice stopped her from following Harry and Ron.

"Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall called. "Might I have a word?" Hermione turned to face the teacher. She didn't look happy.

"Of course, Professor," she replied with a nod. She nodded to Harry and Ron, who continued on their way from the hall.

By now, most students were filing out and off towards their first lessons. Hermione pulled her bag over her shoulder, and stood by her Head of House as they waited for the room to clear. Did that mean this was something no one else was allowed to hear? For a moment Hermione wondered whether it was related to her prefect duties, but of course that would have meant Ron needed to stay too. By the time the last few stragglers had left, Hermione was rather nervous.

"So," McGonagall began. "I take it you had a good Summer?"

"What?" Hermione asked before she could stop herself. "Oh, yes. Yes, it was very good."

"Then perhaps you would care to explain to me why Professor Snape came to me this morning, informing me that Draco Malfoy claims you attacked him on the Hogwarts Express?"

"Oh."

"Oh, indeed," the professor repeated. "I take it then that this is not some fabrication dreamed up by Mr Malfoy?"

"Well…" Hermione began, now unable to meet the elderly woman's eyes. "I didn't exactly _attack_ him. Ron stopped me."

"And just what did he do to provoke such a reaction?" McGonagall asked. "And from you of all people?"

"He…ah…" Her cheeks suddenly felt rather warm. "He said something about Fleur…" McGonagall nodded slowly, remaining silent. "Professor, I had just said goodbye to her. I…I wasn't thinking clearly…"

"Apparently not," the teacher replied tersely. "Miss Granger, I am surprised at you."

"I'm surprised at myself," Hermione said, sighing and closing her eyes. "I didn't plan it or anything. It just…happened."

"Well then we can both be thankful that Mr Weasley was there to prevent anything else from…'happening,'" Professor McGonagall said flatly. "If it were any other student, I would have deducted points for your behaviour." She took in a deep breath, and her expression seemed to soften. "However, given the circumstances, I will not be taking any further action."

"Oh…Professor, thank you," Hermione replied, relief washing over her. As McGonagall had been talking, her anxiety had been slowly rising; fear gripping her that somehow she had got her House in trouble before term had even started.

"However, let it serve as a warning," McGonagall continued, her expression hardening again. "I would hate to think you would start abusing the trust your prior record of good behaviour has earned you."

"It won't happen again," the bushy-haired girl insisted quickly, shaking her head to emphasise her point. "I promise."

"Well then," the teacher began pointedly. "Don't you have classes to attend?"

**~xxx~**

The rest of the day passed in something of a blur for Hermione. Part of her was thrilled to be back at Hogwarts; it was like rediscovering your own house after a particularly long holiday - though of course, that is almost exactly what it was. She had likened the return to Hogwarts as a return to home before, but the longer she spent walking the familiar corridors, the more it rang true. Despite her less than thrilling encounter with Professor McGonagall after breakfast, the day went by without further incident – the only thing out of the ordinary was a higher than usual amount of people greeting her in the corridors and asking how her summer had been. She couldn't tell whether it was simply to hear confirmation that she was indeed still going out with Fleur Delacour, or genuine interest. Either way, it wasn't unwelcome – she prickled with a certain amount of pride every time she referred to Fleur as her girlfriend, and the rather stunned looks on some of her peers' faces were rather priceless.

In fact, just that very morning she had seen a tanned Slytherin girl greeting a rather tall, blonde Hufflepuff girl with a kiss, and had ended up spending almost all of her lunch break wondering just how many other gay students attended Hogwarts. Unlike the environment she had grown up in, the brunette had learned that the Wizarding World was completely accepting – to the point of complete indifference – of different sexualities. Well, all except certain older families – but given their obsession with blood purity, that was hardly a surprise. She made a mental note to expect potentially homophobic comments from Malfoy and his cronies, but didn't linger on it. As long as he was insulting her, and not Fleur, she was confident in her abilities to contain herself.

All in all, it was a rather pleasant day; Hermione even got to watch with smug satisfaction as Harry and Ron bemoaned their first Divination lesson of term. However, just as she was beginning to feel settled and comfortable again, the time came for their final lesson. To say Defence Against the Dark Arts had been something of a disaster would be the understatement of the century.

Hermione could only watch in barely concealed horror as Professor Umbridge spoke down to them; treating them like First Years that could barely hold a wand straight. Though in hindsight, that was probably _exactly_ what Umbridge thought of them – even Hermione was surprised at her instruction to put their wands away. Naturally, the brunette could only restrain herself for so long. But when she queried whether they would even learn to use the spells they were studying, Umbridge just looked at her as though she had sprouted several extra appendages.

"_Using_ defensive spells?" Umbridge had balked, that disgustingly sweet smile in place. "Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?"

After that, the class slowly descended into a sort of low-level anarchy. Questions were being fired at the Professor from all angles, and all were deflected with that same overly-polite and sweet voice. Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing; Umbridge – and by extension, the Ministry of Magic – would have them believe that they were perfectly safe? That everything that had happened around the Triwizard Tournament hadn't taken place? And as it went on, it just got worse and worse; branding Professor Lupin's teachings as inappropriate for their age? Not using practical magic until the actual exam? It was sheer madness, and Hermione found herself growing more and more frustrated with every passing second.

And she was most certainly not the only one.

At Harry's mention of Voldemort's name, the class fell into a deathly silence – save for the sound of Neville climbing back into his seat. Umbridge looked at him with a look of…pity? As though she was saddened by his 'delusions' and feared for his health. Her deduction of ten points from Gryffindor was far from a surprise, and yet Hermione found herself caring surprisingly little; she just continued to glare at the pink-clad woman with utter contempt. She almost felt proud of Harry as he continued to shout at Umbridge, wondering briefly just what had come over her to be so encouraging of his behaviour. She didn't even blink when Umbridge put him in detention, and only continued to grow more and more angry as Umbridge reeled off what sounded disturbingly like a pre-written statement regarding the 'lies' of Voldemort's return.

"So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?" Harry snapped, having got to his feet. Part of Hermione wanted to tell him to sit down before he made things even worse, but by now it was merely a quiet voice in the back of her mind, blocked out by her own desire to explode at Umbridge.

"Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident," the Professor replied calmly, all traces of her false smile now gone.

"And I suppose the other Champions nearly being killed was just as much of an accident?"

The class turned in shock to face the speaker. Hermione hadn't planned on getting to her feet, and yet there she was; leaning against the desk with clenched fists, dark eyes fixed upon Umbridge with determination. How _dare_ that woman belittle what Fleur went through in that maze? How could she just stand there peddling the Ministry's lies, when it was her duty as a teacher to educate them? It made Hermione's blood boil; both her bookish side, and her decidedly more dominant Fleur-influenced side.

"Viktor Krum being put under the Imperius Curse and attacking my girlfriend was just another _accident_, was it?" Hermione spat. Even Harry was looking at her with something of a mix between surprise and admiration. "Cedric Diggory was murdered by Lord Voldemort, and any attempt to convince us otherwise is an insult to both him and everyone who knew him."

"Come here, Miss Granger, dear," Umbridge said quietly, her voice worryingly soft. Still running on Adrenaline, Hermione didn't care that she had just shouted at a teacher and was probably going to be severely punished for it. From where she stood, the brunette could see that Umbridge was writing something on a piece of bright pink parchment, but her back was in the way. "I must say, Miss Granger, I am surprised. I had heard such good things about you. One wonders whether your attitude has been…influenced…by those beyond these walls."

Hermione knew exactly what – or more importantly, who - Umbridge was referring to, and found herself clenching her teeth to prevent another outburst.

"Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear," she said, holding out the now sealed note. "And I will see you in detention tomorrow. Five o'clock. My office."

There was a collective gasp around the room. Aside from the incident involving Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback during First Year, Hermione Granger had never since been given a single detention. She wasn't sure what shocked her more – that she had willingly behaved in such a way to warrant the punishment, or that she found herself not caring a great deal. She took the note, slipping it into her robes before heading off towards the door, pausing only to grab her bag. Harry – who was still standing – gave her what she assumed was meant to be an encouraging smile.

She walked the corridors at a brisk pace, only passing the odd student probably on their way to or from the toilet. The last time she had gone to Professor McGonagall's office was immediately prior to The Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament, and as she approached the door, Hermione found herself wishing more and more that she was in fact at the bottom of the lake. The reality of what was happening had slowly begun to sink in – she was about to enter her Head of House's office, to tell her she had been sent out of a class for misbehaviour; it was far from the way she had pictured her first day of Fifth Year turning out.

She took a deep breath, before knocking on the door. There was a brief pause, before Professor McGonagall answered.

"Come in," she called. Hermione pushed the door open, just in time to see the Professor seating herself behind her desk. To say she was surprised to see Hermione would be an understatement. "Miss Granger. What can I do for you?"

"I…ah…I've been sent to see you," she replied, fighting to maintain her composure. Without Umbridge in front of her to keep her anger up, nervousness was beginning to overtake her.

"_Sent?"_ McGonagall repeated, flabbergasted. "What do you mean _sent?"_

"I have a note," the brunette replied weakly, handing over the pink piece of parchment. McGonagall opened it with her wand, and began to read. With every passing second, Hermione felt her dread only rising. After their conversation that morning, McGonagall had expected her to be back to her usual sterling behaviour. She suddenly regretted the incident with Malfoy on the train – that was hardly going to help her case here.

"Is this true?" the teacher asked, looking up over the parchment through her square glasses. "You shouted at Professor Umbridge? Potter, too?"

"I…yes," Hermione admitted, hanging her head.

"And the pair of you called her a liar?" McGonagall continued, her voice carefully neutral.

"Not directly," the bushy-haired girl said quickly, but one look from her Head of House made her avert her eyes again. "…but we may have implied it."

"And you told her He Who Must Not Be Named is back?"

"Yes," Hermione said, a little stronger this time.

Professor McGonagall considered for a moment, looking up at Hermione with an unreadable expression. There was a horrible silence, punctuated only by the quiet ticking of a clock in the corner. And then, rather than shouting at her as Hermione expected, McGonagall just sighed and leant back into her chair.

"Sit down, Miss Granger," she said, almost kindly. Hermione was surprised, but did as she was told. "Granger, you and Potter need to be careful. Misbehaviour in Dolores Umbridge's class could cost you much more then House Points and a detention."

"Professor, I don't understand…" Hermione murmured. It wasn't that she didn't realise why misbehaviour was bad – she was more confused as to why McGonagall was talking to her in an almost reassuring way about it, rather than punishing her.

"Miss Granger, you have always been an exemplary student," the teacher said softly. "You of all people must realise to whom Professor Umbridge is reporting."

"The Ministry," Hermione said, nodding to herself. "Harry said she was at his trial."

"You and I know this has nothing to do with who is lying and who is telling the truth," McGonagall continued. "Do you remember what Professor Umbridge said during her speech at the start-of-term feast?"

"A lot of overly-polite nonsense that amounted to stating that the Ministry of Magic is interfering at Hogwarts," the brunette said, her anger rising again at the memory. The elderly woman across the desk nodded.

"I am unable to make any comment on the matter," she said loftily, before her expression darkened. "But I am glad to see you are as perceptive as ever, Miss Granger. Now, it says here that you and Mr Potter are to attend detention on alternating evenings this week. His first is tonight, yours is tomorrow."

Hermione nodded, and – sensing their meeting was at an end – slowly got to her feet. She pushed her chair in, before slinging her bag back over her shoulder and making for the door. She wanted nothing more than to get back to the Common Room and put today behind her.

"Miss Granger," the teacher called just before her hand touched the door. "A word of warning: tread carefully around Dolores Umbridge. She might not be intimidating herself, but she is not someone you want to make an enemy of."

"Something tells me it may already be too late for that, Professor," Hermione muttered before she could stop herself. She expected a scolding this time, but was again surprised.

"In which case, you should come to me, rather than throwing it back in her face," McGonagall said simply. "The last thing you want to do is give her more reason to act – or a reason to make me regret appointing you Prefect."

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione replied with a nod, before finally heading through the door. By now, the final lesson had finished and the corridors were once again full of students. Hermione was almost thankful; it meant to she could slip out of the office without drawing attention to herself; the last thing she needed right now was people staring at her.

**~xxx~**

Unfortunately, the story of Hermione Granger finally snapping and berating a teacher in front of an entire classroom was hardly one that would simply go away. Dinner was intolerable, and it wasn't long before she, Harry and Ron left the Great Hall. Harry headed off to his detention, while Hermione and Ron headed straight up to Gryffindor Tower. The bushy-haired girl spent the next two hours taking her frustration out on Fred and George for 'experimenting' with their Skiving Snackboxes on any student foolish enough to take the gold they offered. Which of course led to her dishing out the worst punishment in her Prefect arsenal – threatening to tell Mrs Weasley.

"Hermione, that was _cold_," Ron said as the brunette sat back down.

"More effective than a detention, don't you think?" she said pleasantly, unimpressed with Ron's attempt at hiding within his chair. "Thank you for your support, by the way."

"You handled it fine by yourself," he mumbled. "Surprised you didn't just use your Veela thrall on them."

"Oh for heaven's sake," Hermione scoffed, rolling her eyes. "I don't have a thrall, Ron. I had the remnants of Fleur's – which, if you must know, have already gone."

"Gone?" the redheaded boy repeated. "What d'you mean?"

"It was only there yesterday because I had literally just left Fleur," Hermione explained matter-of-factly. "It will have dissipated by now."

"Like a bad smell?" Ron offered, and Hermione just rolled her eyes again.

"With romantic comments like that, it's _astounding_ you haven't got a girlfriend yet," Ginny said flatly, stepping into view and sitting beside Hermione on the sofa. The brunette smiled appreciatively.

It wasn't long until Ron had gone up to bed, tired of wrestling with his homework, leaving Ginny and Hermione alone in front of the fireplace. The brunette leant her head back, closing her eyes as she allowed herself to finally relax.

"So?" Ginny piped up.

"So what?" Hermione replied, not even bothering to open her eyes. "Let me guess – you want to know how I ended up in detention too?"

"Actually…" the redhead continued, and something in her voice told Hermione this was definitely _not_ related to schoolwork. "I wanted to ask you about the night before last."

"What?" the older girl asked, now opening her eyes and looking at her fellow Gryffindor with confusion. "What about it?"

"Aren't you going to thank me?" Ginny asked innocently. "Or did you think I just forgot where our room was?"

"Oh…_oh_, right," Hermione replied, her eyes widening slightly. She had almost forgotten about Ginny's 'mysterious' absence that had given her and Fleur the privacy they wanted on their last night together.

"So?" the other girl repeated. "How did it go?"

"How did _what_ go?" Hermione asked, but Ginny just folded her arms.

"Don't even think about playing coy," the redhead said, pointing a finger at Hermione while she used the other to reach for her glass of pumpkin juice.

Hermione considered for a moment, before a devilish smirk pulled at her lips.

"Fleur's breasts taste nice."

And now she had pumpkin juice all over her.

Terrific.

**~xxx~**

Many miles away, another young woman found herself in something of a similar situation. It was dark outside Grimmauld Place; the curtains already drawn over the windows to her bedroom. Fleur sighed in exasperation as Tonks looked on eagerly, her grin only widening as the part-Veela's cheeks reddened.

"For ze last time, noz'ing 'appened!" she insisted, throwing her hands up. "At least noz'ing as extreme as what you are implying. Oui, we slept in ze same bed wiz noz'ing on, but zat does not necessarily mean we went ze whole way."

"Well it bloody should do!" Tonks replied incredulous. "You two are pretty much the best looking couple in the whole world – why wouldn't you be all over that?"

"Because I respect 'Ermione's wishes," Fleur stated, drawing herself up a little higher so she could look down her nose at the other woman. "I am not about to take advantage of 'er just to sate my own desires."

"You're a pair of prudes," the purple-haired witch sighed, shaking her head.

"'Ermione is _fifteen years old_," Fleur reminded her. "Zere is no rush."

"But _you're_ eighteen," the older woman said. "Don't tell me you don't have needs."

"Do you really zink I do not want to?" the blonde asked, quirking an eyebrow. "Of course I wish to be intimate wiz 'er, but it is not ze…how do you say…be all and end all of our relationship. I fell in love wiz 'er when I was sixteen – ze same age she will be in just over two weeks."

"Okay, okay," Tonks replied, holding her hands up in defeat. "I'll drop it."

"I am surprised you 'ave not asked me 'ow my first day at work was," the blonde said rather haughtily, but Tonks just shrugged.

"Goblins are gross, banking is boring, Bill has a massive crush on you," the older woman said casually. "Did I miss anything?"

"Suddenly I do not feel as keen to talk about it," Fleur replied irritably. Tonks smirked.

"Well I'm surprised you haven't already sent a nice long letter to Hermione about it," she said. "Hell, I'm surprised you didn't send her a letter as soon as you got back yesterday."

"And what would I 'ave said, hm?" the part-Veela asked. "We agreed not to send unnecessary messages simply telling each oz'er 'ow much we miss each oz'er."

"Sounds like a Hermione idea," Tonks commented with another smirk, and Fleur found herself smiling.

"I am sure she is already top of 'er class once again."

**~xxx~**

Hermione stared unblinkingly at the door to Professor Umbridge's office, almost willing it to not be real. The day had passed in a blur, and even the arrival of a letter from Fleur that morning had done little to lift her spirits. After another few hours of conversation with Ginny the previous evening, they were finally greeted by Harry as he returned to the Common Room. According to him, Umbridge had made him write lines, but Hermione wasn't totally convinced. There was something about the expression on his face; he had looked absolutely exhausted, and had answered a little too quickly when she and Ginny had asked him about what Umbridge had had him doing.

It only served to make Hermione all the more nervous about what was about to transpire. She checked her watch, and smiled briefly, running a thumb over the embossed image of a sailing ship upon it. Coupled with the necklace worn under her shirt, she always had reminders of Fleur about her person; it was only a small comfort, but it was enough to spur her into finally knocking on the door.

"Come in." Hermione grimaced at the sickly-sweet voice, before pushing the door open and stepping inside. It occurred to her that in the space of two days, she had been in two teachers' offices; definitely not the way she had envisioned the start of term. But where Professor McGonagall's office was simply and functional, Umbridge's was an assault on the eyes. Almost every surface had some sort of lace or cloth over it – all pink. A large amount of ornamental plates adorned the walls, each of them depicting a different breed of cat. They watched with interest as Hermione closed the door behind her, still in a disgusted sort of awe. Even the stone walls seemed to have a pink hue to them, and Hermione had to wonder whether this was their actual colour, or they were simply reflecting it from everything else in the room.

"Good evening, Miss Granger," Professor Umbridge said softly. Hermione turned her eyes to the frog-like Professor, sat behind her desk with a pleasant smile in place. "Please, sit down." She gestured towards a smaller table to the side of her desk, upon which a sheet of parchment already sat; Hermione guessed she would be given the same punishment as Harry.

"Thank you," the brunette replied stiffly, seating herself and dropping her bag beside the table.

"I really did not expect to see you here, Miss Granger," Umbridge said, sounding not unlike a parent imitating a sad voice to amuse a child. "Until now, your grades have been nothing short of excellent. I would have assumed Mr Potter's influence had something to do with it, but he never seemed to be a distraction before." Hermione knew exactly where this was going already. She dug her nails into the arms of the chair, thankful the sleeves of her robes hid them from view. "I asked myself, 'what would cause such an outstanding pupil – and newly appointed prefect – to act out in such a fashion. What could have caused her to lose all respect for those older and wiser than herself…"

'_Here it comes…_' Hermione thought, bracing herself.

"Just what has changed since last year...?" Umbridge went on, continuing to smile pleasantly. "And then it occurred to me, just like that!" Her smile widened. "Would you say your contact with Fleur Delacour constitutes an intimate relationship?"

"I would say that is exactly what it constitutes," Hermione replied coolly, but Umbridge immediately held her hand up.

"Only rude little girls interrupt, Miss Granger," she snapped. The brunette desperately wanted to point out that she had been asked a question, but settled for sinking lower into her chair instead. "Now then, as Miss Delacour's…_involvement_…with you-" She pulled a face. "-is the only thing that has changed, one can only assume that girl has something to do with this worrying deviation in your behaviour."

"But-" Hermione began, but forced herself into silence, gritting her teeth in anger. Umbridge watched with an expression that could only be described as delight.

"There," she said softly. "It's not so difficult to control your temper when you try, is it? It took Mr Potter a little while to learn, too." She got to her feet, and moved around the desk. Hermione was too infuriated to bother maintaining eye-contact. "Now then, you're going to be doing some lines for me, Miss Granger." Hermione dutifully reached for her bag, but Umbridge cleared her throat to stop her. "Oh there will be no need for that," she said. "You're going to using a rather special quill of mine."

Hermione looked down as Umbridge placed a dark red quill beside the parchment. It was an unusual feather, and Hermione was sure she had seen a picture of one before, but the exact purpose of it escaped her. She sighed, remembering the look on Harry's face after he had returned from his own detention, and slowly reached for the quill.

And when Umbridge told her exactly what she was to write, Hermione Granger – celebrated star student, prefect, and all-round overachiever, wanted nothing more than to ram the razor-sharp quill down her Professor's throat.

**~xxx~**

When Hermione made it back to Gryffindor Tower that night, she was thankful for the late hour. She hadn't passed a soul in the corridors, and was eternally thankful for the fact. Hot tears were streaming down her cheeks, burning her otherwise cold skin. She mumbled the password to the Fat Lady and didn't even bother waiting for her to fully open before clambering in, holding her left hand tightly to her chest. The brunette stepped into the Common Room and let out a shaky breath, slowly lowering her arm to look at her hand. As her eyes moved over it, she felt another wave of tears and fought to keep her composure. She would _not _give in.

Straightening up, she made for the stairs, but a voice interrupted her.

"Hermione?"

She looked over, and saw Harry sat alone by the fireplace, surrounded by books and parchment. He looked absolutely shattered, but gave a small smile all the same. And then, before Hermione could hide it, he gave her hand a knowing look.

"Harry," she greeted softly. "What are you doing still up?"

"Snape's moonstone essay," he said quietly, turning away and gazing into the fireplace. "It hurts, doesn't it?"

"It's…it's not that…" Hermione mumbled, still taking the time to conceal her hand before moving closer. Harry looked up again, just as Hermione sat beside him. She looked over his homework; he must have been at it for hours.

"I don't suppose there's any point me hiding this anymore," Harry muttered, rolling up his own sleeve and regarding his hand in the dim firelight. He glanced at Hermione. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

"Harry, I…" Hermione murmured, sniffing back more tears. She looked down at his hand, and let out a shuddering breath.

'_I must not tell lies.'_

"Oh Harry…" she sobbed, forcing her eyes away from his scarred hand, dabbing at her nose with her sleeve. Had she been forced to write the same as Harry, she would not have shed tears.

"It's fine," he said stiffly. "Bit sore, but…" He sighed. "Yeah."

"There's no way that _thing_ is legal," Hermione said, turning her own eyes to the fireplace. "I'm sure I remember reading about them in a book on banned methods of magical torture."

Harry gave her a look.

"You read a book on banned methods of magical torture?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. Hermione let out something of a mix between a sob and a laugh.

"Yeah, something like that," she managed. She ran her right hand through her hair, before leaning back into the sofa. Harry put down his – thankfully, normal – quill, and settled beside her.

"You think it's going to be like this all year?" he asked. "Two days in and Hermione Granger already has a week's detention? Something's not right here…"

"I'm not going to tell anyone," Hermione said suddenly. "I'm not going to…I'm not going to give that bitch the satisfaction…"

"No argument here," Harry replied with a nod. "We should probably tell Ron, you know."

"Yeah…"

Harry shifted a little closer, and gently took Hermione's left wrist.

"Can I…?"

After swallowing uncomfortably, Hermione nodded, and allowed Harry to roll the sleeve of her robe up, revealing her own hand. It was still bleeding.

"Oh my god…"

'_I will not consort with half-breeds.'_


	15. Scars & Secrets

**Harry Potter and all related characters and places are owned by JK Rowling - I just make them dance for my own amusement.**

**If anyone wants to be able to nag me for updates, or generally see what I'm up to, there's a link to my tumblr account in my profile on here.  
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**~xxx~**

Hermione stared at the blank piece of parchment, letting out yet another heavy sigh. She had been sat there for nearly forty-five minutes, wondering exactly what to write. It was her first letter to Fleur from Hogwarts, and likely something the blonde was looking forward to receiving. But Hermione knew she couldn't lie; couldn't pretend everything was fine when it most certainly was not. But how did she even begin to explain the situation? That after just two days, she was already in a week's worth of detentions and their newly appointed Defence Against the Dark Arts professor was subjecting both her and Harry to a banned form of torture?

When they had told Ron, he had said the exact same thing that Hermione would have suggested under any other circumstance – tell McGonagall or Dumbledore. But for once, Hermione firmly agreed with Harry that they shouldn't tell teachers. Perhaps something would come of it and Umbridge would be stopped, but she would still get the satisfaction of knowing she had broken them. And as Hermione herself had pointed out – to Harry's agreement – in her case, Umbridge had made it personal. The bleeding had stopped, but the words _'I will not consort with half-breeds'_ were still firmly etched into her hand, and she could only imagine what it would look like by the end of the week. She wondered whether she should even mention Umbridge in her letter at all; would it sound pathetic to complain so soon? But then, her mind reasoned, it wasn't inconceivable that Umbridge would try to stop her contacting Fleur in the first place – surely it was a better idea to let her know while she still had the chance.

And so, with a somewhat shaky hand, she filled her quill with ink and began to write.

'_Dear Fleur,_

_First of all, I hope your first day of work went well. I know you're going to be terrific at it, and I hope working with Bill isn't causing any problems. I wish I could say that Hogwarts is the same as ever, but it already seems to be far from it. Our new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor has been appointed directly by the Ministry of Magic, and she has made it clear that she is following their stance on You-Know-Who. She has already had me and Harry in detention for daring to question it (I'm blaming your influence for that, by the way!), and Professor McGonagall has told me not to cross her. I don't know what she has planned, but I get the impression she won't stop at restricting what we learn in Defence lessons._

_Just in case I'm unable to tell you at a later date, can you find out everything you can about Dolores Umbridge? She works as Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic, and I just can't shake this feeling that she hasn't even got started with what she has planned for this place. How typical is that? I'm sending you a letter with homework. You're probably laughing at me right now, and quite honestly I wish I could hear it. I already miss it. And your smile. After so long together, my bed felt very empty last night. Anyway, I'm missing lunch just to write this, so I'd better get it sent before lessons start._

_Love always,_

_Hermione.'_

The brunette sat back and regarded her letter for a moment, letting out a quiet sigh. There was so much more she wanted to say, but it would have to do for now. It wasn't exactly well thought-out either, but she had no time to start again; even if she already felt as though all it would accomplish was worrying her girlfriend. She quickly folded the parchment and tucked it into an envelope, before packing away her quill and ink. She hoisted her bag over her shoulder and headed out of the deserted Common Room. With most of the school still at breakfast, she only passed a few people on her way to the Owlery. She had already asked to borrow Hedwig, and quickly spotted her. The snowy owl seemed to recognise her, and dutifully held out her leg as Hermione attached her letter. She smiled and stepped back.

"Now remember, no more biting people," she said sternly. Hedwig just glared and took off without so much as a hoot, quickly disappearing into the grey sky. Hermione sighed again, looking around the dirty tower. She smiled briefly, remembering the way Fleur had wrinkled her nose at the owl droppings last time they had been there. It all felt so long ago, and yet it hadn't even been a year – though it certainly felt like it. Ever since she had met Fleur, time had had a funny way of playing games on Hermione, and clearly it had no intention of behaving itself now that she was back at Hogwarts.

**~xxx~**

"I don't think he's gonna last much longer, you know," Ron said glumly, resting his chin upon his folded arms. Hermione lowered her book and let out a sigh.

The two of them were sat across from each other in the Gryffindor Common Room. Harry was absent; attending his detention with Umbridge. Ron had asked for help with his homework, and only then had Hermione realised that – possibly due to her own distracted mind – she herself had yet to complete it. And so for what could have been the very first time, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley were doing their homework at the same time.

"What makes you say that?" she asked quietly, casting her eyes back to her book.

"Well look at him," Ron continued. "He looks shattered all the time, he barely speaks to us unless we ask him something, and I'm pretty sure he's been taking long walks in the grounds after dinner."

"I hardly think we can blame him," Hermione replied, giving up on her book and dropping it back to the table. "After what he went through at the end of last year, he needs all the support he can get – and look what he's got instead. Everyone went home so soon after it happened; they've had more exposure to the Ministry's lies than Dumbledore's truth. From Harry's point of view, he's being punished for knowing what really happened."

"He's not the only one though, is he?" Ron asked, nodding towards Hermione's hand. She had had her final detention with Umbridge the previous evening, and the words were once again red and raw.

"I wouldn't worry about me," Hermione replied, subconsciously tugging the sleeve of her shirt down lower. "I'm not likely to snap at Umbridge again."

"Aren't you?" the redhead asked, leaning back in his armchair with an incredulous look. "Before Monday, I wouldn't have thought you would have done it in the first place! And what about on the train? When you went for Malfoy?" Ron shrugged and gave a sad smile. "They've got an easy way to make you angry, and they know it."

Hermione remained silent for a moment, glancing down at her hand. Even as she read the words once again, she felt a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. It was a scary feeling; knowing that her usual self-control could be broken so easily as soon as someone dared insult Fleur. Was that part of being in love too? Not for the first time, Hermione found part of her wishing the Hogwarts library had textbooks on the subject.

"Did you tell Fleur, by the way?" Ron asked, leaning forward again. "About Umbridge?"

"No," the brunette replied, shaking her head. "I told her that I was worried about what she has planned for the school, and asked her to find out anything she could about her, but…" She fought the urge to look at her hand once again. "…no, I didn't tell her about this. What would I say, anyway? What would I expect her to do? Drop everything and come to Hogwarts to comfort me? Fleur's an adult, and it won't be long before we are too – I'm going to deal with this myself."

"Don't try to grow up too fast."

Hermione looked up and saw Ginny standing by their table, sliding her bag off her shoulder. Hermione frowned. "What?"

"It's something mum always said," Ron added, glancing up at his sister. "She started saying it over and over to all of us when Bill left Hogwarts. We just assumed it was because she didn't like seeing her children moving on, but…"

"Something tells me it might be truer than we thought," Ginny said, seating herself beside Hermione. "And you're starting to sound like Harry now – all anger and self-determination. Most people our age think being an adult is all about doing everything yourself, but it's not."

"Our age?" Ron repeated. "Who's the Fourth Year here?"

"Oh shush," Ginny snapped. "You get _me_ to help with your homework when Hermione's busy."

The brunette just smiled as the siblings interacted. Ginny was right, of course – there was no shame in confiding in others or asking for help. In fact, she had said the same things to Harry on multiple occasions. She was slightly concerned that just a week in his shoes had made her think so much like him, but at least she could now see where her friend was coming from, at least some of the time.

"Thank you, Ginny," Hermione said, smiling at her friend and settling back into her chair. "Fancy you being the voice of reason for once…"

"I'll try to take that as a compliment," the redhead replied with a smirk. Hermione chuckled and glanced to the side, gazing through the narrow window nearby. Dark clouds rolled slowly overhead, barely visible as the last of the sun's light faded. The brunette couldn't help but wonder whether Fleur had received her letter yet; she had never really given much thought to just how long owls took to deliver messages.

As if offended by her thoughts of other animals, a decidedly grumpy looking Crookshanks appeared from behind a curtain and unceremoniously flopped onto his side at Hermione's feet. She smiled down at her cat, watching as he proceeded to wash himself. Before returning to Hogwarts, she had actually considered leaving Crookshanks at Grimmauld Place to keep Fleur company, but he certainly seemed happy to be back – or at least as happy as he could, given the almost permanent look of contempt etched onto his furry face.

**~xxx~**

"Are you sure you 'ave no idea when your 'usband will return?" Fleur asked impatiently, tapping her long fingers against the kitchen table irritably. Mrs Weasley seemed to repress an exasperated sigh, before turning away from the stove.

"As I told you the last time you asked," the plump woman began, resting her hands on her hips. "Arthur is exceptionally busy at the moment. He could be back any time."

As Mrs Weasley turned continued preparing dinner, Fleur sighed and glanced back down to the letter clasped in her other hand. She been overjoyed at the appearance of Hermione's first letter, but the contents had left her less than thrilled. Even in writing, she could tell when Hermione was worried – far more worried than she wanted Fleur to know. The part-Veela had immediately asked Mr Weasley to find out everything he could about Professor Umbridge. He knew her by name, but had never dealt with her personally before. Fleur was desperate to reply to her girlfriend's letter, but with Hermione's request for information, she had resisted long enough to ask Mr Weasley. And now she was waiting.

The blonde did not for one second regret her decision to join the Order of the Phoenix, but had to admit that it had been far less interesting or meaningful than she had expected. The most exciting moment of the entire week had been when a pair of goblins were attacked by a cursed bag of money that tried to eat their heads every time they attempted to empty it.

Still, it had only been a week. Too short a time to see any real developments, and far too long a time to be without contact with Hermione. Tonks was good company, but no matter how much they laughed at the expense of people like Snape or Mundungus Fletcher, nothing changed the fact that Fleur spent every night in an empty bed. It scared her a little, to realise how dependant she had become on the younger girl's company. But she knew there was little cause for surprise – her Veela heritage saw to that, after all.

Mere minutes later, the sound of the front door closing interrupted Fleur's thoughts. She shot to her feet, before quickly remind herself that a) she had no idea who it was, and b) if it was Mr Weasley, his wife was probably more eager to see him. All day, the blonde had done the exact same every single time the door had sounded, and Mrs Weasley was clearly becoming rather irritated with it. She rolled her eyes as she passed Fleur and headed out into the hallway, muttering something under her breath that the part-Veela couldn't quite catch. Moments later, she reappeared with her husband in tow.

Arthur Weasley nodded at Fleur and shrugged his cloak off, draping it over a nearby chair, before pulling it out and dropping into it. He looked exhausted; Fleur was not yet entirely familiar with the man, but even she could see a change since they had first met. The blonde desperately wanted to ask him if he had found anything, but instead forced herself to remain silent, and simply slipped back into her chair opposite Mr Weasley. He clasped his hands together, and finally spoke.

"When you asked me to find out what I could about Dolores Umbridge, I honestly thought it would lead to nothing," he began, shifting his weight slightly. "And funnily enough, that is exactly what it did lead me to."

Fleur's shoulders sagged. "Monsieur Weasley, I must apologise, I-"

"No, no I don't mean that," Mr Weasley cut in, giving her a brief but grim smile. "I paid a visit to the Ministry's department of records this morning. Told them I was conducting a review of one of our interns. And when they weren't looking, I found Umbridge's file, and took a peek."

"And?" Fleur asked, leaning forwards in her seat. Mr Weasley just shook his head.

"There was nothing in it," he said simply. "It was empty."

"…what?" the blonde replied, a frown creasing her forehead. "Zat makes no sense."

"That's what I thought," Mr Weasley continued. "And judging by the state of the drawer it was kept in, it's been that way for a long time."

"Cela n'a aucun sens…" Fleur muttered, before directing her eyes back to the man opposite her, who was looking puzzled. "Désolé, I said zat makes no sense."

"No it doesn't," Mr Weasley agreed. "Now, we can't rush to conclusions. But it definitely makes it seem like Umbridge herself - or somebody close to her - doesn't want anyone snooping at her past actions."

"You don't zink…you don't zink she 'as 'ad dealings wiz You-Know-'Oo, do you?" the part-Veela asked. She knew it was a damning accusation, but she had little time for tip-toeing around the issue.

"No," Mr Weasley replied, shaking his head. "No, I don't think so. But that isn't to say that her record is completely spotless. After all, you can't hide something that isn't there." He sighed, and rubbed his brow. "And while I can't entirely vouch for it's validity, I have heard talk of her past dealings involving legislation against…oh, hm, how to put this…"

"Go on," Fleur pressed, leaning forwards again. Mr Weasley's expression softened somewhat.

"Two years ago she passed a piece of legislation that subjects werewolves to an awful lot of scrutiny when applying for jobs," Mr Weasley explained darkly. It was unusual seeing him so serious, even given the current state of affairs. "Makes it almost impossible for them to find work, Remus included."

Suddenly, Fleur felt a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Back in France, her family's wealth and prestige had made her Veela heritage a complete non-issue, but now faced with a stark reminder that she was far from home, the blonde felt decidedly uneasy. She swallowed uncomfortably, unable to look the man across from her in the eye. "You mean…" she began, her usually confident voice somewhat weaker. "You mean she 'as somez'ing against half-breeds?"

"It would seem so," the man replied, sounding rather nervous himself. He seemed to be looking at Fleur with something of a sympathetic look. "That could explain why the records of her work are either kept somewhere else, or simply don't exist to begin with; it would make it a lot harder for people to oppose what she's doing if they can't even find the right documentation."

"Oui, it would…" Fleur sighed, her shoulders sagging a little.

"If I was to give any advice to those at Hogwarts, it would be the same as Minerva McGonagall has already given: don't cross Dolores Umbridge," Mr Weasley said, returning to his business-like tone. "Especially if the rumours about her are to be believed."

"It will 'ave to do," Fleur replied with a nod. "At least 'Ermione will know she was not wrong with 'er assumptions."

"When is she ever?" Mr Weasley replied grimly, leaning back in his seat. "You of all people should know how perceptive she can be."

"Oui, 'Ermione is…" Fleur glanced to the side, smiling for a moment. "…très attentif. She sees zings zat oz'ers do not."

"Well just make sure she tells you if anything else happens," Mr Weasley added, getting to his feet. "We have our own sources at Hogwarts, of course, but we need all the information we can get, especially if the Ministry _is _interfering there."

"I will do what I can," the part-Veela replied. "But I will not ask 'er to get into more trouble simply to find out what is 'appening. If zis Umbridge woman is as bad as we zink, I do not envy 'Ermione 'aving to serve detention wiz 'er."

**~xxx~**

"How can it only be _Saturday?"_ Ron moaned, reaching for his sixth sausage. "We've been back one bloody week and I'm already drowning in essays."

"Oh _honestly!"_ Hermione snapped, rolling her eyes as she dropping into her seat opposite the redhead. "Do I really have to tell you to do them as soon as you get them _again?_"

Ron just grimaced and noisily tucked into his food. "You're a lot more fun when you're punching Malfoy," he mumbled through his food. Hermione just rolled her eyes. Despite Ron's less than stellar table manners, the brunette couldn't help but agree with him. Their first week back at Hogwarts had dragged on far longer than usual. Coupled with her detentions with Umbridge, even Hermione was relieved to have reached the weekend. Though while both she and Ron were at least attempting to carry on as normal, Harry seemed to be getting worse. He had skipped dinner twice, and Hermione was positive he had been somewhere near the Forbidden Forest at least once.

Distracted by another loud crunch, Hermione's concentration was broken. She glared at Ron, just as Ginny came into view and sat beside her brother.

"Do you _ever_ stop eating?" the brunette snapped, earning a smirk from the youngest Weasley as Ron just looked nonplussed.

"What?" he asked, mouth still full of food. "I'm hungry."

Hermione was about to chastise him for his appalling manners, when she saw Ginny look up. She followed the redhead's gaze and was surprised to find Harry standing nearby, looking rather nervous. The bespectacled boy swallowed, shifting his weight from one foot to another.

"Can I join you?" he asked meekly, sounding almost embarrassed. Hermione glanced at the other two, who looked just as surprised as her, before turning back to Harry.

"Of course," she replied, offering him a smile. He returned it gratefully, sitting beside her and pulling a glass of pumpkin juice towards him. "You know you don't have to ask, Harry."

"I just…" he began, before pausing and looking away. "I think right now I could really use my friends."

"We never left, mate," Ron said, having finally swallowed his food. Hermione just smiled and closed her eyes for a moment, glad that Harry had managed to come back on his own. After the spat between him and Ron last year, the last thing she needed was another falling out to mediate. Moments later, there was a flurry of activity above them as the morning post arrived. Masses of owls soared through the rafters, descending upon the tables in droves. Hermione kept an eye out for her usual Daily Prophet delivery, and sure enough, an owl was heading in her direction.

However, it was far from the owl she had been expecting.

With a wingspan that exceeded the entire width of the table, an enormous eagle owl swooped towards her and – nearly hitting Harry and Ron with a wing each – landed neatly in front of Hermione. As it tucked it's large wings to it's sides, the owl's head swivelled from Ginny, to Ron, to Harry, and finally to Hermione. It sidestepped towards her, before holding out it's leg. Affixed to it was an envelope, rather than a newspaper, earning a frown from the brunette. She reached out and detached it, but was distracted when a second owl landed right beside the first, dwarfed by it's stature. This was definitely the Daily Prophet owl, and after Hermione had deposited a knut in it's pouch, the screech owl took off rather quickly. The eagle owl glared at it, before returning it's attention to Hermione.

"Who's it from?" Ron asked, leaning across the table to get a better look. Ginny just chuckled.

"You really have to ask?" She pointed at the owl, which had now started nuzzling the top of it's head against Hermione's shoulder. Hermione felt her heart jolt, and without further ado, she turned the envelope over and felt a wave of emotion rush over her; there was no mistaking that neat, curvy writing.

"Not exactly subtle, your girlfriend," Harry laughed, nodding towards the large owl. Hermione felt her cheeks reddening as she slipped Fleur's letter out of the envelope, taking a deep breath before unfolding it.

'_Dearest Hermione,_

_It causes me no small amount of heartache to think of how far away you are now. I feel as incomplete as I did when you ran from me all those years ago, and being able to write to you like this just feels as though I am being taunted by something I cannot reach._

_As requested, I asked about your new professor. However, it would seem that someone does not want information on her to be public knowledge. In fact, the records were missing entirely. We have no idea what she has planned for Hogwarts, but both Sirius and Mr Weasley agree that your Ministry clearly has some sort of agenda. I wish I could tell you more, but it seems Umbridge has deliberately made such a thing difficult._

_If she does anything you feel we should know about, please tell me as soon as possible. Apparently, Professor Snape is tasked with keeping us updated on what is happening at Hogwarts, but I trust him about as much as you do. I hope that your next letter is better news than the first, though just having this meagre form of contact is better than none._

_Thinking of you always,_

_Fleur._

_P.S. This is my owl, Amiel. I have told him to stay at Hogwarts until you reply.'_

If Hermione had felt relieved upon receiving Fleur's letter, she was far from it after having read it. Her chest felt oddly tight; she knew her girlfriend had a flair for dramatics, but even so, it was readily apparent that the blonde was far from enjoying her time with the Order. Hermione hoped that Fleur's job would have given the part-Veela a much needed distraction, but she hadn't even mentioned her work at Gringotts. She turned to Amiel and reached up to stroke his head. Just knowing that he had been sent directly from Fleur gave Hermione a small amount of comfort, but it really was minute. The information – or rather, lack of it – on Umbridge was disappointing, but not entirely surprising. After her time alone with their new professor, Hermione was far from surprised to learn that the toad-like woman likely had some skeletons to hide.

"Well?" Ron once again shook the brunette from her thoughts. "What did she say? Anything on Umbridge?"

"No," Hermione replied after a moment, folding the letter once more and tucking it back into the envelope. "But it wasn't for lack of trying. Umbridge has had her own files hidden or destroyed."

"What a surprise," Harry muttered, lowering his toast as though he had suddenly lost his appetite. "I knew it would be too easy to just dig up dirt on her like that."

"But it does prove one thing," Hermione pointed out, nodding to herself. After a moment processing the information, something seemed to have stirred within her. "There _is_ dirt to be dug up."

**~xxx~**

On Sunday evening, the three of them were alone in the Common Room long after the other Gryffindors had gone to bed. Harry and Ron were working feverishly on their essays, while Hermione was sat to one side, twirling her necklace between her fingers absent-mindedly. She remembered the moment she had first seen it so vividly; Christmas morning, the start of the day everyone found out about her relationship with Fleur. It was hard to believe it hadn't even been a year; it felt like so much longer. She remembered how rocky things had been at first; Ron's harsh words at the Yule Ball were still something of a sore spot. And yet here they were, still friends.

Hermione had to admit, she sometimes wondered what Harry and Ron really thought of her being with Fleur; of her being with a girl. They had never really commented on it much after the initial shock had worn off, but the bushy-haired girl couldn't help but wonder what they had said about her in private. Did they even consider what she had with Fleur to be real? Was the part-Veela's absence making them assume things were back to how they were before?

She sighed and got to her feet, tucking the pendant back into her shirt. "Oh, give them here," she barked, gesturing at Ron and Harry's essays. She was fed up of their sleep-addled brains making no sense of the material.

As it happened, correcting and tweaking her friends' essays provided a nice distraction from the tangent her brain had been going on. Maybe that was the answer, she mentally scoffed – increase her already enormous workload so that she had literally no time to think of Fleur. The hours passed with relative ease, punctuated only by the occasional yawn from Ron. Both he and Harry seemed content to simply sit in silence; Hermione far too busy to point out that they could still do something productive with their time.

Just as she was handing back Ron's essay – complete with a sheet of extra notes – Hermione noticed Harry doing something rather strange. While she had been explaining something to Ron, their friend had slid onto the floor in front of the fireplace, gazing into it.

"Harry?" she asked, straightening up and stepping closer. Ron followed, exchanging a puzzled look with the brunette.

"Er…Harry?" Ron said. "Why are you down there?"

"Because I've just seen Sirius's head in the fire."

And he wasn't wrong. Flickering among the flames, never quite solid but definitely visible, was the face of Sirius Black. They quickly got down to business, as Sirius explained just how far the Ministry was going to maintain the perception of normality. Hermione had seen through some of the Prophet's stories, but it was nothing compared to the grim picture that Sirius's words painted. Inevitably, the conversation turned to Professor Umbridge.

"I know her by reputation, and I'm sure she's no Death Eater," Sirius was saying. Harry looked sceptical.

"She's foul enough to be one," he muttered, and Hermione found herself nodding in agreement. Respect for teachers be damned.

"Yes, but the world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters," Sirius reminded them, before smirking. "I know she's a nasty piece of work, though – you should hear Remus talk about her."

"Does Lupin know her?" Harry asked, but his godfather shook his head; or at least appeared to within the flames.

"No," he replied. "But she drafted a bit of anti-werewolf legislation two years ago that makes it almost impossible for him to get a job."

Hermione's fists clenched, and she edged closer to the fireplace. Instantly, her hatred for Umbridge seemed to have doubled. "What's she got against werewolves?"

"Scared of them, I expect," Sirius suggested. "Apparently, she loathes part-humans. She campaigned to have merpeople rounded up and tagged last year, too. Imagine wasting your time and energy persecuting merpeople when there are little toerags like Kreacher on the loose!"

But Hermione took little notice of Sirius's comment about his House Elf. She was silent, replaying his previous words in her mind. Umbridge hated part-humans? That would certainly explain a lot, but…Fleur hadn't mentioned that in her letter. But she _had_ mentioned that she had asked Sirius about Umbridge. Had he withheld that information from her?

"Now Hermione, I know you think he wants-" Sirius began, but the brunette quickly shook her head.

"No, no it's not that…" she said. Sirius must have misinterpreted her distracted look. She sighed and looked back to the fireplace, wondering whether she even wanted to know the answer to this. "Sirius, did Fleur ask you about Umbridge?"

"As soon as she got your letter," he replied with a nod. "Told her everything I just told you."

"Oh…" Now Hermione felt even stranger. Fleur had intentionally kept something from her? She didn't know what to make of that. "It's just…" she began, uncharacteristically lost for words. "…she didn't mention anything to do that that…"

"Probably for the same reason you haven't told her about that ugly thing on your hand," Sirius said bluntly.

At that moment, two things happened within rapid succession. First, Hermione clapped her other hand over her scarred one, hiding the words still etched into her skin, but almost immediately after that, Sirius's face was pushed to one side and disappeared from view, replaced by an entirely different one.

"What 'as zat monster done to you?!" Fleur roared, sending a cloud of sparks shooting from the logs beneath her fiery head. "Why didn't you tell me she 'ad…oh 'Ermione, what 'as she done to you?"

Face to face with her girlfriend, having had no idea she was even listening in on the conversation, Hermione was completely shocked. She stared into the fire for a moment, unable to even think properly. She was dimly aware of Harry and Ron beside her, waiting expectantly for her to speak, but the words just wouldn't come. Instead, the brunette simply pulled her sleeve a little higher, and held it up for Fleur to see. The look of horror upon the part-Veela's face was heartbreaking, even as it was quickly replaced by one of anger.

"Oh mon dieu, je suis tellement désolé," Fleur said, her voice shaking. "Tout est de ma faute…"

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Hermione replied firmly. "And it's not your fault. This would have probably happened anyway."

"But it wouldn't 'ave, don't you see?" the blonde said, sounding more and more distraught. "Zat woman 'ates part-humans, and I am…merde sang de ma mère!"

"Fleur, if I might…" Sirius's voice cut in, and his head appeared beside Fleur's, though the blonde's remained where it was. "I think I can hear Kreacher coming down here so I'll have to be brief. Fudge is convinced Dumbledore is gathering his forces to topple the Ministry, and you can bet any money that Umbridge is here to prove it."

"But it's not true," Harry replied, but Sirius just shook his head.

"It doesn't have to be true for Umbridge to convince Fudge that it is," Sirius said darkly. "Do not cross that woman, understand? Not until we know what she's up to. I'm sorry I can't be of more help, but for now, at least…it looks like you're on your own."

And with that, his face melted back into the flames, leaving only Fleur's. There was silence for a moment, before Ron got back to his feet.

"Come on, mate," he said to Harry. "We should probably…you know…"

Harry nodded, and Hermione smiled appreciatively as the two of them gathered their essays and disappeared up the stairs to the dormitories. Now alone with Fleur, Hermione turned her attention back to the fireplace. She forced a smile.

"It's really good to see you again," she murmured, shuffling a little closer. The French witch just sighed.

"I wish I could say ze same," the blonde replied. "'Ow could you not tell me what zat woman did to you? I am going to rip out 'er-"

"I didn't want to worry you," Hermione replied quickly, trying to calm her girlfriend before she woke the whole of Gryffindor Tower. "I knew…I knew that if I told you, you'd get angry and-"

"Fichue droite je me fâche!" the blonde spat, before closing her eyes and taking another calming breath. "Je suis désolé, you did not deserve zat…"

"I probably did," Hermione replied, shaking her head. "And I'm guessing you didn't tell me what Sirius told you because you didn't want me getting into trouble with Umbridge?"

"I know what a temper you 'ave locked up under zat beautiful mane of 'air," Fleur said, managing a small smile. "'Ad I known what 'ad already 'appened, well…"

"Well we can't change it now," the brunette said softly. "So why don't we just agree on no more secrets, regardless of our…um…tempers."

"Zat sounds like a plan," the part-Veela replied, actually laughing. "I still fully intend to make zat woman suffer, but…oh you 'ave no idea 'ow good it is to 'ear your voice again…"

"I just wish I could see your face properly," Hermione said. "You look…interesting…as a fireplace."

"Sirius told me zis cannot be a regular occurrence," Fleur explained, remorse clouding her voice. "While Professor Dumbledore would probably not mind, if Umbridge finds out, I…I suppose I do not need to tell you what ze consequences might be."

"True enough," the younger witch nodded. "Especially considering where it is you're doing it from."

"Ugh, what zey would want wiz zis place, I 'ave no idea," the blonde scoffed. "Zey call it 'eadquarters, I call it a filthy shack! It is 'orrible 'ere."

"Tell me," Hermione murmured, leaning back into the front of the sofa. Fleur looked puzzled.

"Tell you what?" she asked, but Hermione just smiled.

"Everything," the brunette clarified, tilting her head as she continued to smile. "If this really is the last chance we'll have to talk properly for a while, you may as well tell me how everything's been. I…just hearing and seeing you again has already made this week worthwhile…"

Fleur was silent for a moment, before nodding. "Alright," she said, returning her girlfriend's smile. "I suppose I should probably tell you about work…"

Hours later, as the sun peaked over the mountains and cast a thin ray of light through the Common Room's narrow windows, Ginny descended the stairs to find Hermione still slumped against the sofa, opposite the ashen remnants of the fire, smiling her first proper smile since returning to Hogwarts.


	16. Skirmishes

**Harry Potter and all related characters and places are owned by JK Rowling - I just make them dance for my own amusement.**

**I think we're all agreed - I should never ever predict how long an update is going to take ever again. It seems to jinx it.**

**~xxx~**

The following morning, Fleur was awoken by a hand gently shaking her shoulder. She grimaced, pressing her face further into what she assumed was her pillow. But it was no use, and moments later her eyes fluttered upon, revealing her 'pillow' to in fact be a faded, moth-eaten cushion. The blonde instantly sat up straight, less than pleased to have spent the night on such a filthy thing. She blinked the sleep from her eyes, looking left and right as she began to remember where she was; the study in Grimmauld Place. Wondering just how long she had been there, she turned to her right and found the person who had woken her.

"Morning," Sirius said, cracking a smile. "Don't worry, you're not late for work."

"…I cannot believe I slept in 'ere," Fleur said, turning away and rubbing at her tired eyes. Sirius just laughed.

"Well be glad you didn't spend the night with your head in the fireplace," he pointed out. "You were still talking when I turned in."

"Oui, we…ah…had a lot to talk about," the blonde confessed, bowing her head slightly. "Seeing 'Ermione again makes up ze lack of sleep."

"I'll bet," Sirius replied with a small chuckle. "I take it everything is alright with you two?"

"As good as can be, given ze circumstances," Fleur replied, relaxing a little, though still unwilling to lean back into the ancient cushions. "But zere is no point dwelling on ze distance between us. We knew it would be zis way, but we will not let it part us."

"Well, I'd be very surprised if it did," Sirius said, smiling again. "Hermione's far too stubborn for that."

"Zat she is," the part-Veela said, her lips twitching into a small, fond smile. Sirius stood for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. Eventually, he turned back to Fleur, looking almost apprehensive.

"Actually…I wanted to ask about something you said last night," he said, giving the air of a man who was choosing his words very carefully.

"You are not spying on us, I 'ope?" Fleur asked, giving the man a small smile.

"Oh it's nothing like that," he said, moving past the young woman and sitting beside her. "About…your Veela heritage. You aren't truly ashamed of it, are you?"

"I…no, no not at all," Fleur replied, shaking her head. "I am proud of my family; of ze bloodline I 'ave in'erited. It is just…if not for me, 'Ermione would never 'ave 'ad zose 'orrible words…oh mon dieu…"

She hung her head, her now tangled hair forming a curtain around her face. The memory of seeing Hermione's scar came rushing back with an awful ferocity. Just knowing that she had played a part in her girlfriend's punishment, however unintentionally, was almost too much to bear.

"Umbridge would have just thought of something different," Sirius said kindly, shrugging his shoulders. "You mustn't blame yourself for her cruelty."

"But how can I not?" Fleur asked quietly, refusing to look up. "If it were not for me, she would not 'ave zose scars. She never would 'ave-"

"That's enough," Sirius cut in. "Are you really going to focus solely on what could or might have been?" He shifted a little closer, placing a hand upon the blonde's shoulder. "Twelve years I was left to rot in Azkaban. Twelve long years, knowing the truth about what really happened. But you know what? In all that time, not once did I even consider – not even for a moment - what I could have changed." He smiled again, and gave Fleur's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "What's done is done. And Hermione deserves better than to have you sitting around here moping all day."

"…you are right," Fleur said after a short pause. She lifted her head, revealing just how close she had come to shedding tears. "Forgive me, I am being foolish…"

"No you're not," Sirius said, his smile growing as he got to his feet. "If you were, you wouldn't be listening."

Fleur managed a weak smile, watching the man as he left the room. She felt somewhat better, but guilt still filled her heart as she pictured Hermione's hand. She let out a quiet sigh, and finally stood up. Her back was stiff and her neck was sore, and as she made her way upstairs, Fleur wondered just what her parents would say if they could see the state of her current accommodation. Her immediate family were not quite as upper class as some would believe, but Fleur couldn't help but picture her mother's upturned nose if she caught even a whiff of the stale air that seemed to permeate through Grimmauld Place.

When she finally reached her room, it was to find a very sleepy looking Tonks just emerging from bed, looking somewhat submerged in her oversized Weird Sisters t-shirt. Her hair seemed to be caught between bright pink and dark purple, likely reflecting it's owner's sleep-addled state. She rubbed her eyes and smiled as she saw Fleur enter the room.

"Whotcha," she croaked, attempting to flatten her tousled hair with one hand. "Wondered where you got to."

"I fell asleep talking to 'Ermione," Fleur replied, unable to hide her smile as she crossed to her own bed. Tonks sniggered.

"I hope you two didn't do anything too dirty," Tonks said, grinning widely. "They watch the floo network sometimes, you know."

"I am not even going to dignify zat wiz a response," the blonde replied, rolling her eyes. She considered telling Tonks about what Umbridge had done to Hermione, but she decided to let the matter rest. Hermione wouldn't want everyone feeling sorry for her; nor was it Fleur's place to go spreading it around. Instead, she flopped back onto her bed and listened with amusement as Tonks regaled her with stories of a witch she knew who gave strip-teases via fireplace.

**~xxx~**

Hermione's morning was somewhat similar to Fleur's; before she knew what was happening, Ginny was shaking her awake. The brunette blinked in surprise, realising with some alarm that she was still sat opposite the Gryffindor Common Room's fireplace. She looked up at the other girl; Ginny's arms were folded and she was smirking.

"…why is it always you?" Hermione muttered, heaving herself up onto the nearest armchair, wincing as she realised just how stiff her neck had become. Ginny just rolled her eyes.

"How about 'good morning, Ginny'?" she replied. "Or maybe 'thank you for waking me up, seeing as it's Monday and everyone will be coming down here in a few minutes?"

"…it's Monday?" Hermione asked, suddenly feeling rather more alert. Her confusion only amused the redhead even more.

"Just what were you and Fleur doing last night?" she teased, ignoring Hermione's glare. "I hope you weren't sticking body parts in the fireplace."

"Very funny," the brunette groaned, getting to her feet and cocking her head to the side in a vain attempt at alleviating the knot in her neck. "I'll be back down in a minute."

After changing into her uniform – and spending the briefest of moments gazing longingly at her bed and actually considering not going to lessons – Hermione returned to the Common Room and headed down to the Great Hall with Ginny. The youngest Weasley was still sniggering about once again finding Hermione asleep, but the brunette was too focussed on waking herself up to care. Thankfully, she had already finished all homework due in today, but it was still somewhat disorientating to have almost forgotten what day it was. She and her girlfriend hadn't even talked about anything altogether very interesting – simply getting the chance to see and talk to Fleur again was enough. Did the part-Veela really still have such an effect on her?

By the time Harry and Ron joined them, the Great Hall was mostly full. Hermione half-hearted picked at her toast, more focussed on reliving her conversation from last night. While, Ginny and Ron were arguing about Quidditch – Ginny was adamant that no member of the Chudley Cannons would ever be selected for the England team – Harry looked almost as distracted as Hermione. She watched her friend for a moment, pondering just what was affecting him so. It was obvious – at least to Hermione herself – that Harry was feeling lonely; burdened with something that no one around him could possibly understand. Hermione knew she didn't know what it was like to be in his shoes; was grateful for it, even. But all the same, it irked her that Harry was so unwilling to talk to them about it.

She was pulled from her thoughts by the tell-tale sound of wings and screeches above them. Hermione wasn't expecting any mail from Fleur, but she still had her Daily Prophet to look out for. Before long, a large barn owl swooped overhead and landed beside her abandoned toast. As soon as the owl had been paid and departed, Hermione unrolled the newspaper.

And let out a horrified gasp.

_MINISTRY SEEKS EDUCATIONAL REFORM_

_DOLORES UMBRIDGE APPOINTED FIRST EVER HIGH INQUISITOR_

As Hermione read the following article out loud, she could feel her anger rising. _Of course_ this was going to happen. It all made sense now; Fudge's refusal to believe Dumbledore, Umbridge's appointment at Hogwarts. She wasn't a teacher; she was as good as Rita Skeeter – trying to dig up dirt that didn't even exist to back up the Ministry's claims that Dumbledore wasn't competent to run the school. As someone who prized her education above almost anything, the very thought of Umbridge being entrusted with powers to shape the curriculum made Hermione's skin crawl. She turned back to the article, rereading certain passages to make sure she hadn't imagined it. With her worst fears confirmed, she was furious.

"So now we know how we ended up with Umbridge," she snapped, dropping the newspaper back to the table. "Fudge passed this 'Educational Decree' and forced her on us! And now he's given her the power to inspect other teachers! I can't believe it! It's _outrageous!_"

"I know it is," Harry muttered. Hermione could see him subconsciously attempting to hide the words on his skin, still visible as faint white lines. She glanced down at her own similarly scarred hand, and only felt her anger double.

Hermione couldn't decide whether she was grateful or troubled when none of their lessons were inspected that day. Fred and George filled them in on Umbridge's assessment of Professor Flitwick, but even as Hermione left Arithmancy after lunch, she still had yet to witness an inspection. As they approached Defence Against the Dark Arts, Harry and Ron informed her that Professor Trelawney had been inspected – Hermione could already picture how _that _had gone – but before they could elaborate, they were being ushered into the classroom and ordered to put their wands away.

Umbridge instructed them to begin reading Chapter Two, but no sooner had they begun, than Hermione had her hand in the air. She knew she was pushing her luck, but given Umbridge's already low opinion of her, she didn't much care. Besides, surely Umbridge couldn't complain that Hermione had already read the entire book? The toad-like woman moved towards her, and bent down beside the brunette's desk.

"What is it this time, Miss Granger?" she asked. Her voice was sickly-sweet; almost kind. Hermione felt a sudden strong desire to hit the foul woman right in the face; surely it would be her own fault for getting so close? Instead, Hermione calmed herself and replied as politely as she could.

"I've already read Chapter Two," she said carefully.

"Well then," Umbridge replied, actually smiling. "Proceed to Chapter Three."

"I've already read that too," Hermione said, not missing a beat. She couldn't help but feel slightly smug as she watched Umbridge's reaction. "I've read the whole book."

"Well, then," Umbridge began, straightening back up and speaking slightly louder. "You should be able to tell me what Slinkhard says about counter-jinxes in Chapter Fifteen."

And Hermione did just that, and for a moment Umbridge actually looked impressed. But, responding to some unexpected boldness brewing within her, Hermione continued. And when she explained how and why she disagreed with what the book said, Umbridge's eyes narrowed.

"Well, I am afraid it is Mr Slinkhard's opinion, and not yours, that matters within this classroom, Miss Granger," Umbridge said, voice now loud enough for everyone to hear. Hermione just crossed her arms, refusing to give her teacher the satisfaction of seeing her protest. "Miss Granger, I am going to take five points from Gryffindor House."

Harry looked as though he was about to butt in, but Hermione beat him to it. "For what reason?" she asked, keeping her voice as calm as she could. She knew she was in trouble, but after reading that article in the Daily Prophet, all bets were off.

"For disrupting my class with pointless interruptions," Umbridge said, her own voice just as calm as Hermione's. It must have looked like a conversation between two people who loathed each other entirely but were too polite to say it. In fact, Hermione reasoned, that's exactly what it was. "I am here to teach you using Ministry-approved method that does not include inviting students to give their opinions on matters about which they understand very little. Your previous teachers in this subject may have allowed you more license, but as none of them – with the possible exception of Professor Quirrell, who did at least appear to have-"

But her tirade was cut short when Hermione scoffed loudly, actually smiling up at the teacher. Umbridge looked enraged, but Hermione just shook her head.

"I hope you don't mean the same Professor Quirrell who happened to have Lord Voldemort sticking out the back of his head," the brunette replied, still managing a confident smile. The silence that followed was almost unnaturally quiet; it was as though everyone in the room had suddenly stopped breathing. Umbridge went completely rigid, unblinking as she stared daggers at Hermione. Finally, the teacher took a small breath, and swallowed.

"I think another week's detentions would do you some good, Miss Granger," she said, voice calm and sweet as ever. Hermione narrowed her eyes, but kept her resolve. She had expected it, of course. But after what Umbridge had done to her, she just didn't care.

Harry, on the other hand, seemed to disagree. At Umbridge's words, he finally spoke. "But she's right!" he snapped. "You can't just pretend it's-"

"You too, Mr Potter," Umbridge said, finally showing some anger. Hermione just glared.

"So that's it, is it?" she asked, her voice taking on a mocking tone. "Silence anyone who doesn't toe the line?"

"Enough!" Umbridge snapped, stamping a tiny foot. "I will have order in my classroom!" She took a moment to compose herself, turning from Hermione to Harry, then back again. "Now then, if I hear so much as a whisper from either of you again, it will be a month's detention for the pair of you. Do I make myself clear?"

Hermione had to bite her tongue, but at the threat of a month of having her hand sliced open, her rational side clawed back some control. Glaring, she nodded stiffly. Harry did the same, and from that point, the lesson progressed in silence. Hermione spent the remaining fifty minutes staring at her open textbook, not even turning the pages to look as though she were interested. Instead, she had begun pondering just what to do. There was no way they were going to learn anything even remotely useful in that classroom – the textbook was one Hermione wished she could un-memorise. And all the while, members of the Order – Fleur included – were out there risking their lives to keep them safe. And for what? So Umbridge could prattle on about 'theory' all year?

As the class dragged on, Hermione's resolve became firmer – something had to be done. There was no point asking the other teachers, bound as they were by Umbridge's new power over them. If they were going to do this, they had to do it themselves.

Hermione had a plan.

**~xxx~**

It was always slightly disconcerting to realise how intimidating certain areas of Hogwarts could appear when they were deserted. The corridor that led off their staircase to Umbridge's classroom was one of those very locations; only half the torches were lit, and with the days growing shorter, darkness had already fallen outside. Hermione was completely alone, having left Harry and Ron in the Common Room. Tonight was the first of her 'new' detentions, and the brunette was more determined than ever to not give Umbridge the satisfaction of seeing her flinch.

But no sooner had Hermione caught sight of the staircase, than she heard footsteps approaching her from behind. For a moment, she feared it was Umbridge sneaking up on her, but she quickly decided the pace didn't fit the small, tiny steps of the toad-like woman. She glanced over her shoulder, and was surprised to find Professor McGonagall coming up behind her. She paused and turned to face the teacher, suddenly rather nervous. She didn't care for Umbridge's opinion of her, but that of her Head of House was another matter entirely.

"Good evening, Miss Granger," McGonagall said rather sharply. "Out for an evening stroll?"

"I…um…" Hermione stammered, rather taken aback by the woman's clipped tone. "No, I was…"

"I know exactly where you are going," McGonagall replied. "And why you are headed there." She drew level with Hermione, looking rather severe in the darkness. "Miss Granger, I am thoroughly disappointed in you. After our first talk, I had hoped the matter resolved."

"So had I…" Hermione replied, unable to look the teacher in the eye. "Professor, I'm so sorry. It's just-"

"Not another word," McGonagall cut in. "It is clear to me that Professor Umbridge's punishments are not working." She folded her arms. "Therefore, you are to serve detention with me tonight. And for the rest of the week."

"But-" Hermione began, but once again found herself cut off. Only this time, it was by a distinctly different voice.

"_Hem hem_," came the unmistakable sound of Umbridge's throat clearing. Hermione looked to the side, seeing that the pink-attired woman was now stood a few steps from the bottom of the nearby staircase, smiling sweetly at the pair of them. "Miss Granger, I believe you are late for our appointment."

"There has been a change of plans, Professor," McGonagall said. "Miss Granger will be assisting me tonight."

For a fraction of a second, Umbridge's eyes narrowed. "I'm not sure I understand, Minerva," she replied, tilting her head to one side. "Under who's authority are you acting?"

"My own, _Dolores_," McGonagall said, and for a moment Hermione caught a definite hint of dislike coming from the elderly professor. "Miss Granger is in my house, and as her behaviour is seriously jeopardising her Prefect status, this has become a matter for myself and Professor Dumbledore. I think you will find I still have the power to assign appropriate disciplinary action for those in Gryffindor House, should I deem it necessary."

Again, Umbridge's eyes twitched. "For now," she said quietly. "But I warn you, Minerva. Actions of a dissenting nature can and will be reported to the Minister."

"I would hope so," McGonagall replied, before placing a hand upon Hermione's shoulder and steering her in the other direction. "Good evening, Dolores."

Umbridge never replied, and quickly the two of them were out of her sight and heading back through the castle to the Transfiguration Courtyard. Only after a minute of silence did Hermione fully realise what was happening – McGonagall had got her out of detention with Umbridge. Yes, she still had to serve it with McGonagall herself, but Hermione's hand would be remaining intact. She looked up at her Head of House, a wave of appreciation overtaking her. Strict she may be, but Professor McGonagall had just saved her a week of hell, and Hermione was pretty sure her Head of House knew it.

As they arrived at McGonagall's classroom, Hermione finally spoke.

"Thank you, Professor," she said, managing a small smile.

"For what, Miss Granger?" McGonagall asked, quirking an eyebrow. "You still have a week's worth of detention to serve."

"Yes, but…" Hermione trailed off. The professor just nodded.

"I know."

They stepped into the classroom, and headed through the empty desks to McGonagall's desk. The teacher first took a stack of parchment from a nearby table, moving it to her desk, before motioning for Hermione to sit. The brunette did as she was told, waiting for McGonagall to do the same. She glanced over at the parchment, and saw what appeared to be test papers. Once seated, McGonagall spoke.

"Now then, before we begin, you and I need to talk," she said, folding her hands upon the desk. "If your other professors were not still singing your praises, you would have already lost that badge." Hermione glanced down at the 'P' badge pinned to her robes, and swallowed uncomfortably. "However, it would appear that with the exception of Defence Against the Dark Arts, you continue to be an exemplary student." She paused for a moment, regarding Hermione carefully. "It is because of that that I am giving you this final chance, Miss Granger. Any more transgressions, and I will not be able to aid you."

"I understand, Professor," Hermione said with a nod. McGonagall sighed, leaning back in her chair slightly.

"I will not patronise you by mincing words," she continued. "Were you any other student, we would not be having this conversation. But I trust both your discretion, and your appreciation for the state of affairs both within and beyond the walls of this castle. Professor Umbridge reports directly to the Minister for Magic, who at present is set on denying what you, myself, and Professor Dumbledore know to be true. Professor Umbridge is not here to teach you, she is here to _watch_ you." She sighed, and closed her eyes for a moment. "Or perhaps I should say _us_. With her new position as High Inquisitor, she has the power to sack any member of staff who works here. So I must apologise, but there is very little I can do regarding what has happened to your hand."

Hermione instantly pulled her sleeve down, even though she knew it was too late. McGonagall just gave a sad smile. "I saw it during your last Transfiguration lesson, Miss Granger," she said. "And officially, I should be doing something about it. But you are smart enough to know that that would get us nowhere – any complaint of that nature would have to be filed with either the Board of Governors, of the Ministry itself – both of which give Professor Umbridge their full backing."

"I understand," Hermione replied. "I did think about telling you, but…well, I reached the same conclusion."

"Which is why I must implore you not to further anger Professor Umbridge," McGonagall said. "She holds more power here than anyone, save for Professor Dumbledore." She paused, and glanced away. "And I can only wonder how much longer that will be true…"

"You don't think…" Hermione began, suddenly realising what her teacher was implying. "You don't think she could replace Dumbledore, do you?"

"I think it would be best not to give it much thought, Miss Granger," McGonagall replied. "Suffice is to say, we must _all_ watch our step for the time being. You have always shown an unwavering dedication to your studies – at present I believe that would be the most appropriate distraction."

"Professor, you're not…" Hermione bit her lip for a moment. "You're not going to get into trouble for pulling me out of that detention, are you?"

"You worry about keeping your nose clean, Miss Granger," McGonagall said, a small smile tugging at her lips. "I will worry about Professor Umbridge."

Hermione nodded and remained silent for a moment, mulling over McGonagall's words. The professor had been far more candid than was professional, and the brunette was silently grateful that her Head of House trusted her enough to have this conversation. And she hadn't even revoked her Prefect badge – something Hermione had been sure would happen. She knew she owed Professor McGonagall a very large debt, and made a mental note to at least try to show more restraint in Umbridge's lessons. McGonagall had taken a risk undermining Umbridge's authority in the way that she had – it was only fair that Hermione didn't make it a vain gesture.

The rest of her detention was spent marking First Year Transfiguration theory papers. Being able to remember the entire syllabus – something Professor McGonagall had clearly counted on – made it rather easy to grade the work. It was surprisingly therapeutic, and for a few hours at least, Hermione was able to take her mind off Professor Umbridge, and the damage she was doing to the school.

**~xxx~**

The next two weeks passed at a decidedly slow pace. The first week, Hermione did as she was told; she didn't utter so much as a single word in Umbridge's classes, and thankfully they all passed without incident. Hermione had witnessed Professor McGonagall snapping at Harry and taking House Points from him when she discovered that he too had been given another week's worth of detentions, and only then did she truly appreciate how lenient her Head of House had been on her - by rights, she should have been subjected to the same punishment. She had shared her 'plan' with Harry and Ron one evening when Harry was returning from one of his detentions with Umbridge – namely that they needed to come up with a better way of teaching themselves defensive spells.

It didn't take long for Harry to deduce the main thrust of Hermione's plan – she wanted _him_ to teach them. He may not have been the most intelligent wizard in the world, but his experience more than made up for it. He knew what they were fighting, and with that knowledge, Hermione would be more than capable of selecting appropriate spells. The brunette was amazed it had taken so long for it to hit her; Harry was the perfect person to prepare them for what was out there.

Or at least a damn sight better than Umbridge.

But as the second week drew to a close, Hermione had yet to mention her plan to Harry again. To her great confusion, he had actually seemed angry about it. She understood that he may not want to revisit certain memories, but surely it was for the greater good? As she slipped into bed on Thursday night, Hermione pushed the thoughts from her mind; sooner or later she was going to have to bring the subject up again, but at that moment all she cared about was sleep.

However, no sooner had her head touched the pillow, than she heard the dormitory door opening. She assumed it was just another of her roommates going to bed, but she soon heard footsteps moving in her direction. Hermione sighed and sat up, knowing full-well who it had to be. And sure enough, as soon as she opened the curtains to her bed, she was face to face with Ginny.

"Evening," the redhead said, seemingly amused by Hermione's hair – even more tangled than usual.

"Can't this wait until morning?" Hermione asked incredulously, but the other girl just smiled even wider.

"Why, is there something special about tomorrow?" the younger witch asked, folding her arms. "You got anything important going on?"

"Ginny, what are you-"

"Happy birthday, idiot."

She had completely forgotten.

**~xxx~**

By breakfast the following morning, Ginny still hadn't stopped teasing her. Even as she neatly piled up the cards she had received in the morning post, Hermione could still hear the redhead guffawing off to her left.

"I mean honestly," she went on, chuckling to herself. "Fancy forgetting your own birthday!"

"I've had a lot on my mind," Hermione replied for what felt like the hundredth time. But the youngest Weasley just ignored the way the brunette was gritting her teeth and continued. But Hermione was only half-aware of Ginny's words. As she gazed at the stack of cards, she felt a rather uncomfortable sensation in the pit of her stomach. Moments later, Ginny seemed to notice, and finally her smile faded. Harry and Ron were busy discussing the latter's Quidditch skills, which according to Angelina Johnson needed a lot of work, and neither seemed to notice as Ginny leant a little closer to Hermione.

"What's wrong?" the redhead asked, frowning as Hermione continued to stare at her cards.

"It's nothing…" she said, but Ginny just rolled her eyes and grabbed the stack of cards without so much as a word. She quickly flicked through them, before tossing them back onto the table.

"Where's Fleur's?" Ginny asked quickly. Hermione just looked at her for a moment, before turning her gaze back to the cards. Despite the noise of the hall around them, Hermione still felt an uneasy quiet between the two of them. She gave Ginny another brief look, watching as the redhead continued to frown. "You don't think Umbridge confiscated it, do you?"

"I doubt it," Hermione sighed, shaking her head. "Though I wouldn't put it past her before too much longer."

"Well when was the last time you got a letter from her?" Ginny asked. "I thought you two were talking all the time?"

"We are," the brunette replied. "The last letter I had from her was on Tuesday. But it was just the usual – that she's missing me, how her job is going, etcetera. To be honest I get the impression she's leaving out anything related to the Order in case Umbridge _does_ start going through the mail."

"But…?" Ginny pressed, raising an eyebrow at Hermione's rambling. The older girl just sighed.

"But now I think about it, I…" she trailed off for a moment, swallowing uncomfortably. "I don't think she actually knows when my birthday is."

"_What?"_ Ginny hissed, briefly drawing the attention of a rather startled Second Year who was passing. "How can she not know when your birthday is? She's your bloody girlfriend!"

"…it never came up?" Hermione tried, but Ginny's eyebrow just rose even further. The brunette sighed and lowered her head. "I don't know. Really, I don't. We just…never really talked about it - the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students arrived a whole month after my last one, remember? And in fairness, she never told me when hers was either – I only found out when I visited them over the Summer and realised it had been and gone while I was with my parents."

"Sooo…what you're saying is Fleur forgot your birthday?" Ginny asked, but Hermione quickly shook her head.

"No," she snapped, offended that Ginny could even suggest that. "What I'm saying is she can't have forgotten it, because…she never knew when it was in the first place."

"Why do I get the impression she's not going to be very happy when she finds out?" the redhead teased, earning a groan from Hermione.

"Don't even go there, Ginny," she muttered, resting her head in her hands. "I've got Umbridge this afternoon, I don't need today to become even worse."

"Miss Granger?" Professor McGonagall's voice floated down the table, and Hermione quickly lifted her head to face the approaching teacher. Ginny sniggered.

"Spoke too soon," she whispered. Hermione just glared, before turning back to McGonagall.

"I am afraid to say your most recent Transfiguration essay was woefully below par, Miss Granger," the Professor said sharply. "Therefore I have no choice but to place you in detention, where you will re-write it. Tonight, my classroom, eight o'clock."

By the time Hermione had regained control of her jaw and was able to close it, Professor McGonagall had long-since turned and left. By this point, Harry and Ron were paying attention.

"Blimey," said Ron, looking rather concerned. "I bloody hope not. I copied yours!"

**~xxx~**

No sooner had Defence Against the Dark Arts begun, than Hermione became certain that news of her latest detention had already spread among the staff. Professor Umbridge seemed even more cheerful than usual as she personally told the brunette to put her wand away at the start of class, and continued to leer at her with a look of smug satisfaction as the lesson continued. Hermione was certain that the toad-like woman would only be happier if the detention was to be served with Umbridge herself, and promptly decided to spend the rest of the lesson plotting various ways of pushing the teacher from the Astronomy Tower and making it look like an accident.

She smiled briefly when she imagined her younger self's shock at such thoughts running through her head, but quickly hid it when Umbridge passed by once again. The class dragged on, and Hermione found herself fighting the impulse to sigh with relief as she slid her unopened textbook back into her bag. Despite knowing full-well that the brunette had finished and memorised the book, Umbridge seemed perfectly happy to let her sit there in silence while the others read through Chapter Four.

After dinner, Hermione opted not to return to the Gryffindor Common Room. She hated the idea of just sitting around while others stared at her or asked her why she was in yet _another _detention. Instead, she headed straight out the castle's main doors and wandered until she was far enough away from everyone else that she could hear herself think.

It wasn't until she heard a small splash that she realised she had made her way down to the edge of the lake. Further away, she could make out a lone figure tossing stones into the water. Not wanting to be seen, the brunette quickly made a beeline for a nearby tree and leant against it. She gazed out across the lake's smooth surface, perfectly reflecting the evening sky. She slipped her bag from her shoulder and let it fall to the grass beside her feet. Folding her arms, Hermione let out a sigh and closed her eyes, attempting to slow the pace at which her thoughts were running around her frazzled mind. But any hope of that was quickly shattered when a nearby voice called her name.

"Hermione?"

She opened her eyes, turning to the left and realising with surprise that the person she had seen skimming stones was very familiar.

"Harry?" she called. He gave a small smile and gave a half-hearted wave as he approached. "What are you doing out here? I didn't see you at dinner."

"Thought I'd finally take some of Trelawney's advice and try to clear my head," he replied, glancing out over the lake, before turning back to Hermione. "You?"

"Same," she said, rolling her eyes. "Still trying to figure out what went wrong with that essay?"

"Yeah, what's going on with that?" Harry asked. "I mean, even if I believed for a second that you could mess up a piece of homework, a detention seems a bit much." He scratched the back of his head. "Me and Ron only usually get them for forgetting to do them."

"I don't know," Hermione replied with a sigh. "I keep going over it in my head, but I can't understand where I went wrong. I proof-read it a dozen times." She paused for a moment, shaking her head. "Maybe McGonagall's trying to save face after pulling me out of Umbridge's detentions."

"But you still went to them, didn't you?" Harry asked. "With McGonagall, I mean?"

"Every night that week," the bushy-haired girl replied. "Though quite honestly, I think you deserved a reprieve more than me." She nodded towards his hand, still bandaged after it's most recent ordeal. Her own scars had faded to nothing but faint white lines, and would likely fully heal. Harry's, however, were a completely different story.

"I don't think Umbridge cares which one of us she gets to torture," Harry replied with a shrug. "Though honestly I'm sure she'd prefer the full set."

"I can't believe you're joking about it," Hermione said, but Harry just chuckled.

"I can't believe you've had two weeks' worth of detentions," he countered. "You used to think having a detention was worse than death."

"Mm, I suppose I did…" Hermione murmured, looking away for a moment. "Maybe my priorities are a little different these days."

"I don't think so," the bespectacled boy said, shaking his head and folding his arms. "You value learning more than anyone I know. Umbridge is belittling the very thing you care most about."

"That's…surprisingly poetic," Hermione replied, finally smiling. "I'm genuinely impressed."

"No need to sound so surprised," Harry said, laughing again. Hermione continued to smile, rolling her eyes. It felt good to smile properly again, even if it was at their shared self-deprecation. Still, Harry was right, and Hermione knew it – she had changed. A year ago, there's no way she would have dared behave the way she had in Umbridge's classes. Maybe Ginny was right and it was Fleur's influence, or maybe Harry was right and it was actually a perfectly 'Hermione-like' reaction to Umbridge daring to threaten her education. Either way, the brunette knew she was going to have to keep a tighter control on her emotions – one more toe out of line and she was likely going to lose her Prefect badge. Truth be told, she was still shocked she hadn't had it stripped from her already, though she suspected Professor McGonagall definitely had something to do with it.

Was that why she was serving detention tonight? Had her Head of House got into trouble with Umbridge, as she had predicted, and this was her way of vindicating herself? Hermione was still convinced her essay was faultless, and a small part of her was actually looking forward to defending it, even if it meant crossing Professor McGonagall.

She and Harry remained in a comfortable silence for a few minutes longer, but after checking her pocket watch, Hermione saw that it was almost time for her detention. She excused herself, and after Harry had wished her both good luck and a happy birthday, she headed back across the grounds and up to the castle.

**~xxx~**

As luck had it, Hermione found herself almost bumping into Professor McGonagall as she re-entered the castle.

"Ah, there you are, Miss Granger," the teacher said with a nod, and together they headed down the corridor. There was silence for a few moments, before McGonagall spoke again. "There has been a slight change to your punishment for tonight," she said, not even looking at Hermione as they continued on their way. "As you are aware, Hogwarts is funded rather generously by the Ministry of Magic – or at least it was. Until now, students have only been responsible for their uniforms, books and supplies. However, as the Ministry has recently put forward plans to cut our funding in half, the school's finances require examination to determine if and where cuts can be made. Professor Dumbledore is determined that no student or parent should have to pay for an education."

"…um…right," Hermione replied after a moment, completely bewildered. "I'm sorry, Professor, but what does this have to do with me?"

"Well, you are a bright girl, Miss Granger," McGonagall replied. "I trust that you will be able to offer some insightful suggestions regarding areas in which savings can be made."

"I…but…I'm just a student," Hermione protested. "I don't know anything about the school's finances."

"Which is why we are tonight playing host to a representative from Gringotts Wizarding Bank," McGonagall explained. "You will be assisting them as they make a full accounting of the school's expenditure." They reached the door to her classroom, but Hermione was still more than a little confused.

"I'm sorry, I still don't see-" But she stopped mid-sentence, a preposterous, mad idea leaping forth from the back of her mind. She looked up at Professor McGonagall, suddenly rather aware of how shallow her breathing had become. The teacher just raised an eyebrow, and opened the classroom door, stepping back to allow Hermione in. The brunette did so, her heart racing as she told herself again and again that this couldn't be leading where she thought it was.

The room was not empty; a lone figure stood facing away from the door, near to McGonagall's desk. The teacher closed the door behind them, causing Hermione to jump as it shut. She couldn't take her eyes off the woman at the other end of the room.

Finally, the guest turned to face them, a smile forming upon her regal features.

"Bon anniversaire, mon amour."


	17. Refuge

**Harry Potter and all related characters and places are owned by JK Rowling - I just make them dance for my own amusement.**

**~xxx~**

It wasn't until Professor McGonagall cleared her throat that Hermione realised she had been stood there gawking for over a minute. Or had it been months? It was so hard to tell. Fleur just continued to smile, closing the book she had been flicking through and placing it on a nearby table. She didn't say a word, simply watching the brunette's reaction. Hermione was transfixed, unable to do much more than marvel at the way the candlelight played over Fleur's soft skin, shimmering as it was reflected in her glossy hair.

Clearly impatient, Professor McGonagall swept past Hermione and strode between the desks towards her own. The slight breeze from the Professor's cloak finally snapped Hermione out of it, or at least enough to remember how to use her legs. She followed the woman's path, unable to take her eyes off of Fleur and nearly colliding with a couple of the desks on her way. The French girl just broadened her smile and shook her head slightly. Her shock wearing off slightly, Hermione managed a small frown as she drew level with her girlfriend.

"Something amusing?" she asked, trying her best to keep her voice from wavering. Fleur just continued to smile.

"Not at all," the blonde replied. She moved a little closer, trailing a single slender finger along the edge of a desk as she went. Hermione mentally chastised herself for letting those eyes affect her so. There had to be a chapter in that Veela book about their ability to tie a person's tongue in knots, right?

"You…um…you look well," she managed, taking a moment to properly observe the taller girl's attire; plain black trousers and a neat, white, button-up shirt. She had of course seen Fleur's work clothes before, but never actually being worn – and most definitely never with the first two buttons of the shirt undone and exposing a great deal of that suddenly rather inviting neck. Hermione could almost hear her brain banging itself against a mental wall.

"Merci," Fleur replied with a curt nod. "You too."

They stood like that for a few moments; Fleur clearly amused and Hermione totally unable to decide what to do with herself. The silence stretched on for a few more seconds, before Professor McGonagall dropped the piece of parchment she had been reading and let out an irritable sigh.

"For goodness' sake!" she snapped. "I was young once too, you know!"

Hermione and Fleur both looked at her with surprise, but before the brunette could react, she felt a pair of strong arms sliding around her waist.

"Come 'ere," the French witch purred, pulling the shorter girl into a tight embrace. Hermione's breath hitched as she felt the familiar scent of Fleur's perfume wash over her; though she wondered just how much of the warmth filling her was due to the blonde's Veela thrall, reaching out to her again after all this time. She rested her head against Fleur's shoulder, closing her eyes and pressing her face into the other girl's increasingly tangled blonde tresses.

Hermione had always scoffed at the notion of missing someone so completely that a reunion after a short time would feel like years had passed, but now she was starting to see that perhaps the couples she had always rolled her eyes at weren't being entirely pathetic. Just perhaps. It wasn't as though Fleur's arms around her seemed to be filling her with a warmth even the heartiest fire was incapable of. And Fleur's hair was absolutely not softer than her dormitory pillow against her cheek. And the blonde's heartbeat against her chest was most definitely not a far more enjoyable rhythm than anything the Hogwarts band could muster. After a few moments, they pulled away enough to look each other in the eye. Hermione wondered briefly if Fleur had always been that tall; was eighteen too late to still be growing? No, that wasn't right. Was it? Maybe.

Her internal rambling was cut short by an all too familiar toothy grin. As always, Fleur could read her like a book.

A rather tasty-looking book, judging by the glint in those bright blue eyes.

"Did you really zink I would not come to see ma chérie on 'er birz'day?" Fleur said warmly, leaning a little closer again and nudging Hermione's nose with her own. "Stupide petite loutre…"

"I…" Hermione began, before pulling her head away and raising an eyebrow. "What did you just call me?"

"You always screw your nose up when you are zinking too 'ard," the blonde replied, smiling even wider. "Like a little otter."

"But otters don't…what…" Hermione tilted her head to the side, trying to comprehend her girlfriend's always slightly bizarre sense of humour. "I think the dust in that old house has addled your brain."

Fleur's smile faded and she grimaced. "'Ow right you are," she said. "If zat woman 'as me cleaning anoz'er 'orrible old room ze Order are not even going to use, I am pushing 'er down ze stairs!"

"Mrs Weasley?" Hermione asked simply, managing a sympathetic smile. While she harboured no ill will towards the Weasley matriarch, the animosity between her and Fleur had become steadily more apparent as the summer holidays had drawn to a close. The brunette wondered briefly just how bad it had become since then; were the two women openly feuding now?

Fleur just wrinkled her nose, and for the first time directed her eyes at something other than Hermione. "Oui," she said quietly.

The younger girl decided not to press the issue, and instead pulled the blonde closer again and gave her a tight squeeze. She knew discussing it would be futile; just as her complaining to Fleur about Umbridge would be. There was nothing either of them could do about their respective situations, and they both knew it. After a few moments more, Professor McGonagall finally cleared her throat.

"If I might interrupt," she began, watching the couple move apart again. "Despite my own part in the subterfuge of bringing Miss Delacour here, she does have a rather important task to carry out."

"I'm sorry, Professor, I-" Hermione began, but was quickly cut off as the teacher raised a hand.

"You needn't apologise, Miss Granger," she said. "I trust the two of you will be able to keep your minds on the task at hand for at least a little while?"

"I am a woman of business," Fleur replied with a decidedly less-than-convincing air of haughtiness. "We will be consummate professionals at all times."

"I don't doubt it," Professor McGonagall said, a small twinkle in her eye. "You have everything you need?"

"Oui, all 'ere," Fleur said, gesturing to a bag hanging from a nearby chair. "We shall get to work immédiatement."

As it turned out, helping Fleur examine the school's finances wasn't entirely dissimilar from their cooperation in deciphering the clue from her Golden Egg last year. Hermione was still somewhat baffled that Professor McGonagall trusted her with such sensitive information, but she supposed it wasn't entirely unsurprising – she was a prefect now, after all. Though, she realised with something akin to suspicion filling her mind, the requirement for prefects to fulfil their duties was already becoming somewhat lessened since the start of term, and she had an uncomfortable feeling she knew why. Pushing further thoughts of Umbridge from her mind, she returned to the task at hand.

Watching Fleur work was something of a joy all in itself; the way her long fingers played at the corners of a page if she had to read it for too long; the small furrowing and lifting of her brow as she scanned through facts and figures. It was almost unnerving to see just how much she resembled an adult, though as Hermione reminded herself with some exasperation, that is exactly what she was now. She felt foolish even dwelling on it, but the gulf between their ages – a meagre two years – felt infinitely larger than it had done when they were both students. But even as she considered this, a thought occurred to her; had Fleur been her age, she wouldn't be here right now. In fact, she would have remained in France for another two years with only letters and maybe visits in the Summer to sustain their relationship.

Rather happy with this revelation, Hermione got back to work, smirking slightly when Fleur felt the hand now resting upon her leg.

**~xxx~**

By the time they had finished their task, it was nearly midnight - though Hermione was most certainly just as guilty as Fleur for stalling in the hope it would prolong their time together. Leaving the two of them in peace for the most part, Professor McGonagall had remained at her desk during the 'detention'; rising only to investigate what turned out to be Peeves chasing a pair of Second Years around the Transfiguration Courtyard. With the ghost sent packing and points deducted for being out of bed, the professor had returned to find Fleur and Hermione packing the blonde's documents away.

"All in order?" McGonagall asked, to which Fleur nodded.

"Oui," the part-Veela replied, tucking her hair behind her ear as she turned towards the door. "Aside from per'aps a little more expenditure towards supplies for ze 'Ospital Wing zan one would expect, I see noz'ing out of the ordinary."

"Ah." The teacher nodded curtly, not looking entirely surprised. "And you have suggestions for improvements that can be made?"

"Several, Professor," Hermione said. "Mainly regarding a few select extracurricular clubs, in fact."

"Oh?"

"I 'ave a list I shall include wiz ze documents," Fleur said, smirking slightly – Hermione had had a rather long rant on the matter. "It is all written down."

"But there's more," Hermione said, stepping forwards. "There are a few areas we feel there is in fact not enough money going towards."

"I don't zink ze Professor is interested in 'elping restart S.P.E.W, chérie…" Fleur pointed out. Hermione huffed, but continued.

"Alright, one very specific area," she said. "Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Professor McGonagall didn't even try to look surprised. She just slowly folded her arms and quirked an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"This," Hermione began, reaching into her bag and pulling out her copy of 'Defensive Magical Theory' before slamming it down upon the desk. "Is useless." She drew herself up to full height, dark eyes blazing. "A First Year textbook would be of more help. _A First Year textbook would be less patronising!"_

"Something tells me this is to do with more than a simple textbook," McGonagall said rather bluntly. Hermione looked as though she were holding back a growl.

"This book sums up everything that is wrong with Professor Umbridge's lessons, and I know you know that too," the brunette snapped. She rather quickly regretted it, but the teacher didn't seem to take offense.

"I am afraid I cannot offer any comment on the matter, Miss Granger" she replied, her voice still rather neutral in tone. "Your professors have the right to set the recommended reading for their own lessons."

"And we have a right to a proper education," Hermione said, her voice rising. "And I for one cannot believe this-" She pointed angrily at the book. "-was decided on in anything other than a boardroom at the Ministry of Magic, full of people who have no idea what they are talking about."

"'Ermione, you are going slightly off-topic…" Fleur murmured, brushing her fingers against her girlfriend's. Hermione sighed.

"I'm sorry, Professor," she said. "I…"

"It's quite alright, Miss Granger," McGonagall said, her thin lips curling into a small smile. "If nothing else, it is pleasing to see your education is still your top priority." Her eyes flitted over to Fleur for a second. "…or should I say at least a _high_ priority."

"Oh non, 'Ermione is wedded to 'er textbooks," Fleur said with a smirk. "I see 'er stroking zem at night and whispering to zem when she zinks I am not zere."

"I do not!" Hermione snapped, breaking into a smile of her own and shoving Fleur's shoulder. The teacher just rolled her eyes.

"I rather believe it's high time you got some sleep," Professor McGonagall said curtly. "Before either of you give me reason to revoke that badge."

Hermione glanced down at her prefect badge. "But Professor, I-"

McGonagall just grimaced as Hermione let out a shriek – clearly the Head of House had seen where Fleur's wandering hand was going well in advance.

**~xxx~**

After being instructed to accompany Hermione straight back to Gryffindor Tower – absolutely no detours via dark corridors or empty classrooms – Fleur drew her red and gold scarf tightly around her neck and took her girlfriend's hand in hers. A gentle breeze tangled through their hair as they crossed the Transfiguration Courtyard, whipping their identical scarves around behind them. For a moment, Hermione was living in the past; how many times had they walked routes such as this together? It was almost surreal seeing Fleur at Hogwarts again, even though by rights, it was the place Hermione had seen Fleur the most.

"I zink I still remember ze way back," Fleur said, breaking the comfortable silence as they reached the moving stairs. "Zough wiz all zese moving parts, I am not certain…"

"You're going the right way," Hermione said with a smile. "Unless you really are planning on dragging me off somewhere to ravish me."

"Oh I noz'ing would give you more pleasure zan zat," Fleur said. Hermione was about to correct her, when she realised Fleur's faux-pas was intentional. Her cheeks went scarlet and she just squeezed the blonde's hand tighter.

"Very funny," she muttered, but couldn't stop a smile spread across her face – nor a rather risqué image forming in her mind.

Hermione had never been so miserable to see the portrait of the Fat Lady waiting for them, snoozing quietly against her frame. Their pace had already slowed to a crawl, and finally they stopped a few metres away from her. Instead of pulling their hands from each other's, they joined their free ones as well, moving to stand directly in front of each other. Hermione looked into those bright eyes once more, quite unable to articulate the surge of emotions and unspoken feelings the simple act brought to the fore.

"I…I don't know what to say," she admitted finally, unable to resist laughing at herself. "I don't even know where to start. It still hasn't even really hit me that you're here…"

"I know," Fleur replied solemnly. "I almost chose not to come. I knew it would be 'ard, but… Well, 'ere we are."

"I love you," Hermione blurted suddenly, quite unable to help herself. Fleur just smiled, and without a word, leant forwards and claimed Hermione's lips in a gentle kiss. The brunette's arms quickly slid around the taller witch's neck, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss. It was easier this way, a distant voice in Hermione's head told her. There would be a time for them to catch up properly, but now was not it. This was pure indulgence; being what the other needed when they needed it most. Hermione felt Fleur's arms around the small of her back, pulling her even closer as she felt an all too familiar tongue against her own. The brunette hated herself for being so overly sentimental, but she could already sense tears beginning to form; just feeling Fleur against her again was almost too much.

But if she had thought simply kissing was too much to deal with, it was nothing compared to the jolt that ran through her when Fleur let out a low moan. Hermione could feel the vibration of the blonde's throat, but somehow it seemed to travel the entire length of her body, setting her senses on fire as it went and forcing her, quite against all rational thought, to take a sudden step forwards, pushing Fleur up against the nearest wall. As it was thankfully draped in a thick tapestry, Fleur only let out a sound of surprise as she hit it, quickly recovering and closing her eyes again. Moments later she reached down and in one swift motion, pulling Hermione's leg up, gripping her thigh and pulling the shorter girl's pelvis against her own.

With a rather loud breath, the brunette forced their lips apart and looked Fleur in the eye once more. Gone was the innocent twinkle; there was nothing but lust and need and desire in there now, burning with the ferocity only a Veela could muster.

"Je veux que vous," Fleur said, her voice dangerously quiet. Hermione just lowered her head slightly, looking up at the other witch with a tiny smile.

"I'm yours already," Hermione breathed, leaning forwards and placing the lightest of kisses upon the heated skin of the blonde's neck. "Prenez-moi."

There was nothing but silence for that moment; both girls seemed to have lost the ability to breath. They just stared at each other, Hermione's words hanging in the air between them. And then, almost simultaneously, Fleur broke into an almost manic grin, grabbed Hermione – one hand on her shoulder, the other still on her thigh – and twirled her round so she was now pressed firmly against the wall instead.

Even in the flickering light of the few remaining lanterns, the glint of Fleur's teeth as she smiled was as dangerous as it was exciting; and right now she was smiling a fair amount, to put it mildly.

"Are you sure you want zis?" she purred, pressing herself fully against the shorter girl. Hermione shuddered as she felt the swell of the blonde's chest beneath her cloak against her own.

"Yes," she whispered. "Fleur, I've wanted this for so long and now I… Everything is falling apart. Umbridge and Voldemort and the Ministry and…" She trailed off, letting out a loud breath that was almost a laugh. "Why can't everyone just be you."

"Because…" the part-Veela said softly, trailing her right hand from Hermione's thigh up and even higher. "Only I can do zis…" And without so much as a warning, Fleur's palm was pressed flat against Hermione's pelvis, with pressure steadily being applied more and more through those long, exquisite fingers.

Hermione shuddered and let out a long, broken sigh, fighting not to shout. She never liked to dwell too long on thoughts of what she did when she was alone, though she had come to rely on it somewhat more as her desire to take things further with Fleur had increased over the Summer. But even as she did so, the difference between that and this might as well have been infinite. Even through her clothes, the sensations Fleur was capable of instilling in her were so much deeper; so much richer.

"I could do it right now…" the blonde purred, leaning closer and dipping her head so it was almost resting upon the other girl's shoulder. "I could 'ave you undone right 'ere, from ze outside, wiz'out undoing so much as a button…"

"…and will you…?" Hermione managed. She was completely at Fleur's mercy by this point, though not entirely helpless; everything Fleur did was a question; every tiny movement asking for permission; for approval. The fact that Hermione was the one vocalising it seemed almost ironic.

"Oh no, not like zis…" Fleur murmured, her hand becoming quite still despite maintaining the pressure against Hermione's core. She tilted her head to the side, finally meeting the brunette's eyes again. "Not until I 'ave 'ad a taste…"

There was silence once more, and Hermione felt herself fighting not just to stay quiet, but even to simply remain standing. But any response she might have given was for naught.

A loud hiss shattered the moment, drawing both girls' attention from each other and to the dark corridor beyond. Something was there, watching them from the shadows.

"Mrs Norris," Hermione gasped, now gripping Fleur more out of surprise than desire. The blonde scowled and reluctantly withdrew her hands. Mrs Norris scampered off into the dark, but it was little comfort. "Filch will be here any minute."

"Merde," Fleur muttered. She looked left and right. "We can 'ide in ze common room until 'e is gone."

"There could be people in there," the shorter girl hissed. "You know how bad Harry and Ron are at getting their Homework done."

"But if zere isn't, we can continue on ze couch, non?" Fleur tried hopefully, but Hermione wasn't having any of it.

"Down, girl," she said. Fleur looked far from pleased, and Hermione just sighed. "I'm sorry."

"Non, it is I 'oo should apologise," the blonde said, shaking her head. "I knew zere would be little time for…well, anyz'ing, really."

"I suppose," Hermione replied, nodding glumly. She knew what she had to ask, and with Filch on his way, she had no time to be tactful. "When will I see you again?"

"'Ogsmeade," Fleur said. "I will be zere when you visit next."

"And you'll still probably try to surprise me by jumping out from behind a tree," Hermione said, and finally Fleur smiled again.

"Non, I shall be 'iding naked inside a snowman, just waiting to pounce," the French witch replied. Hermione just rolled her eyes.

"You're not using me as a human hot water bottle if you do," she said, but that only made her girlfriend's toothy grin widen.

"Why not?" she asked. "You are 'ot and wet enough for it."

"I'm….what?!" Hermione hissed, snapping her legs together and looking around as if they had suddenly been deposited in the middle of a busy street. "Fleur!"

"What?" the part-Veela asked innocently, shrugging. "Is somez'ing wrong?"

"You are a terrible woman."

"'Oo almost 'ad you ruin your-" Hermione clamped a hand over the taller girl's mouth, silencing whatever lewd comment was forming on her lips. Fleur just laughed into her hand and slowly Hermione removed it, shaking her head. "Face it, 'Ermione, you wouldn't 'ave me any oz'er way."

"I'd much rather have you alone and tied to the bedposts, but that's neither here nor there," Hermione stated matter-of-factly. "Now, you have to go."

"Oui oui, I know," Fleur sighed. "You 'ad better zink of me tonight." She gestured rather bluntly at a certain part of the other girl's body.

"_Go_," Hermione said firmly, feeling more like she was sending a child to bed than anything else. Fleur smiled, and leaned down for a brief kiss.

"I shall see you soon, 'Ermione," she whispered. "I love you."

"Love you too," Hermione replied softly. "You be good for Mrs Weasley."

"Je ne promets rien," Fleur muttered as she took a step back. "Bonsoir."

And with that, she was gone. After a few moments, Hermione could hear Fleur cheerily greeting Mr Filch and asking for directions to the Entrance Hall. Breathing a sigh of relief, Hermione grabbed her bag – it had fallen from her shoulder much earlier – and approached the Fat Lady.

Who was now wide awake.

"I saw the whole thing," the portrait said, sounding rather shaken and already swinging open of her own accord. "Just get in."

**~xxx~**

PROCLAMATION

**Educational Decree No. 55**

**All visitors to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry are hereby required to be interviewed by the Hogwarts High Inquisitor before entering the castle.**

PROCLAMATION

**Educational Decree No. 56**

**All students are to submit themselves for questioning regarding illicit interpersonal relationships.**

PROCLAMATION

**Educational Decree No. 57**

**Any student found in the company of a person or persons deemed undesirable by the Ministry of Magic will face immediate expulsion.**

**~xxx~**


	18. Deception

**Harry Potter and all related characters and places are owned by JK Rowling - I just make them dance for my own amusement.**

**~xxx~**

Most people of the world, be they muggle or magical, accepted the idea that if something is too good to be true, it very likely is. Hermione had never given the notion much weight before, but upon reflection, getting to see Fleur again should have probably told her something bad was immediately going to follow. And sure enough, as she left Gryffindor Tower the next day and headed down for breakfast, a tidal wave of anger overcame her. Umbridge's new Educational Decrees leered down at her from the wall outside the Great Hall, positioned in a neat row alongside their increasingly large number of fellows. Before she had even moved on from the first of the new decrees, she knew full well what had led to their appearance.

Umbridge knew.

Somehow, the overgrown toad had found out about Fleur's visit. For the first time in her life, Hermione had had to read something three or four times to make sure she actually understood it correctly. 'Illicit interpersonal relationships'? People deemed 'undesirable'? Was it truly within Umbridge's power to delve into students' private lives like that? Hermione was sure the answer was a resounding 'no'. If it wasn't before, it was now very clear that despite her constant talk of 'order' and 'discipline', when it came to Dolores Umbridge, rules were something she had no problem changing to suit her needs. Hermione was so lost in her flurry of disparate thoughts on the matter, it was only when a First Year bumped into her that she was shaken to the present, realising she had been stood stock still amongst the morning throng of students. She let out a long breath, slowly looking away from the placards.

"Hermione?" a voice asked. She turned to find Ginny watching her with a somewhat concerned air. "You've seen, then?"

The brunette just nodded, before finding her voice. "I have."

"She can't get away with this, can she?" the younger girl asked, cocking her head at the Educational Decrees. Hermione just sighed. The crowded Entrance Hall was hardly the place for this conversation.

"I don't know," she replied quietly. "Seems she already has."

"But-"

"Ginny, I really don't..." she trailed off before sighing again, her shoulders sagging. "I'm sorry."

Hermione hadn't a clue what to say. Her mind was far too occupied trying to process what was happening; what had already happened. Did Umbridge truly mean to follow through with this? Or was it simply another way of intimidating those who dared to speak out against her? Aware that she was hardly going to find answers standing here surrounded by the steady stream of students coming and going from breakfast, she turned on her heel and left. It wasn't until she was halfway up the first flight of stairs that she realised had left Ginny behind. She turned and gave what she hoped was an apologetic wave. The redhead seemed to understand, and headed off into the Great Hall without her. The last thing on Hermione's mind was food.

To the surprise of her peers, Hermione was late to History of Magic that morning. While the others were busy with breakfast, she had sped off to the library and made a beeline for the seemingly rarely visited section on magical law. As she probably should have expected, there was surprisingly little to go on. It seemed the position of Hogwarts High Inquisitor was indeed created entirely anew for Umbridge: there was no reference of anything similar to be found anywhere. Furthermore, there was very little regarding Ministry interference at Hogwarts at all; it appeared such a thing had never happened before. At least, not to this extent - Hermione had found one brief mention of a Ministry official attempting to ban Quidditch and later being found hanging from a goalpost by their underwear, but that hardly seemed relevant.

Realising she would in all likelihood be late for her first lesson, she quickly returned the books to their rightful places and swept out of the library. Madam Pince seemed less than thrilled to have been disturbed so early in the day, and let out a huff as the brunette sped past. While passing a group of First Years who seemed to be in much the same predicament as herself, Hermione's eyes flitted up to a pair of large speakers jutting out from the stone wall, looking thoroughly out of place. In her mind she could already hear Umbridge's voice ringing through the halls, spouting nonsense about behavioural guidelines and the like. It was almost startling for Hermione to find herself so fed up with rules being enforced. But, she reminded herself, this was far more the fault of how said rules were being enforced – and the vile pink amphibian who was to blame for it all.

**~xxx~**

Hermione spent the rest of the day in something of a daze, uncharacteristically distracted from her work and those around her. It went unnoticed by Professor Binns, but both Professors Flitwick and Vector seemed somewhat concerned by the glazed look in her eyes. She just mumbled an apology and blinked a lot, which seemed to satisfy them. They went back to the other students, and Hermione went back to mulling over Umbridge's actions. She was almost getting bored of herself, her thoughts having focussed on nothing else since that morning. But no matter how long she dwelt on it, she still couldn't quite grasp just what this meant for the school. So far all she herself had managed to achieve was a tarnished record and spurring Umbridge into passing more idiotic Educational Decrees.

For the first time since the start of her education, Hermione felt like little more than a child – something Umbridge would probably approve of. What use was her encyclopaedic knowledge and advanced skill when those in charge could simply twist and invent new rules to further restrict her and her peers? She had always rolled her eyes at people her age complaining about 'adults' in general, brushing them off as petulant and immature, but now she was starting to see where they were coming from. Umbridge was treating them like children; like they weren't even capable of thinking for themselves. And, as she continued to think, Hermione's vague plan came meandering back into conscious thought. Nothing Umbridge was going to teach them would ever be of any use; furthermore, she was clearly using her lessons to gauge what else the students might know and potentially use 'against' the Ministry. That in itself was reason enough to take action, but with events outside of Hogwarts making things insurmountably worse, the need for a swift response was all the greater. And so, without as much as a second thought, everything suddenly fell into place. As ever, it would involve a great deal of rule breaking and deception, but Hermione knew deep down – hell, it wasn't even deep down anymore – that there was no other way. It was impossible to best Umbridge in a fair fight; she was their teacher, ergo there could be no fight, fair or otherwise. Logically, there was only one solution – take a leaf from Umbridge's book and change the rules.

Umbridge was convinced of two things. Firstly, that a secret, organised rebellion was forming against the Ministry and Cornelius Fudge. Secondly, that Harry, Hermione and their peers were mere children and not to be taken seriously. Neither was true, of course – but the former was certainly achievable, and the latter would be more than easy to create the illusion of.

After dinner, determined as she was to get back to Gryffindor Tower and broach the subject of her plan, Hermione almost didn't notice the gaggle of students outside the Great Hall before she walked headlong into them. She stopped just in time, craning her neck to see just what they were gathering around. At first she assumed it was simply the new Educational Decrees, being seen for the first time by those who missed them at breakfast. But as she managed to worm her way through the throng of black cloaks, Hermione was surprised to find a single long piece of parchment nailed to the wall below the wooden framed Decrees. And as she drew even closer, it became clear that it was a list – students on one side, a date and time on the other, above which sat the words;

PROCLAMATION

**Further to the passing of Educational Decree No. 56, the following students are hereby required to attend a friendly talk with Professor Dolores Umbridge over tea.**

**Those who fail to attend will face serious sanctions.**

Hermione couldn't help but roll her eyes. 'Friendly talk'? Was that Umbridge's attempt at appearing more approachable?And since when had she stopped referring to herself as The Hogwarts High Inquisitor? Turning her gaze back to the list, Hermione scanned through to find her name. She had no doubt it was there, and upon finding it, saw she was one of the first Umbridge wanted to 'talk' with. Tomorrow at nine o'clock, meaning she would miss Care of Magical Creatures. She wondered whether Professor Grubbly-Plank would even be aware; after all, Umbridge did so love lording it over her fellow teachers. On the other hand, not informing her would be a rather subtle way of getting Hermione into even more trouble – not that she really thought Umbridge capable of anything that could be remotely described as 'subtle'. Of course, Hermione cared rather little whether or not her absence was explained; she was more concerned as to the content of this 'talk.' The Educational Decree had stated they would be questioned regarding 'illicit interpersonal relationships' – was Umbridge really going to interrogate her about Fleur? Hermione knew she shouldn't have been surprised, given it was almost certainly Fleur's visit that had caused this.

The already somewhat distant memory of the blonde's embrace almost triggered a brief smile, before Hermione took a deep breath and pulled her bag further up her shoulder. She wondered whether Fleur's presence in the castle would be traced back to Professor McGonagall, or whether Fleur or even she herself would be blamed. The whole situation was beginning to seem like something of a mess, even by usual Hogwarts standards, and Hermione was starting to find it rather taxing to keep track of every single issue they were being forced to deal with at present. Of course, as she often did, the brunette simply straightened her tie, and got on with it.

**~xxx~**

The following morning, Hermione found herself feeling surprisingly calm. She got ready for the day as normal, even pausing to make sure her shoelaces weren't uneven and her even-present necklace from Fleur wasn't lopsided. She wondered whether her scheme for Umbridge's 'talk' would actually help at all. The professor had long since made up her mind about Hermione and her friends; surely she wouldn't be quick to change her perception of them. But, Hermione reasoned, it was worth a try – there was no way they would be able to organise any sort of response to Umbridge's meddling if she continued breathing down their necks and crying 'dissent' every time they so much as sneezed.

As she made her way from the girl's dormitory, she went over the situation one more time in her head. Umbridge saw them as children, that much was clear. And children make mistakes all the time, Hermione reasoned. If she were to simply play up to Umbridge's patronising view of them, surely that would convince Umbridge they were less of a threat. It would mean no more shouting competitions during Defence Against the Dark Arts, but as McGonagall's words had made clear, Hermione was on rather thin ice at this point. Already wondering just how far to take her routine, she suppressed a chuckle.

"You alright, Hermione?" Ron asked. The brunette blinked, caught off guard somewhat by her friends' sudden appearance.

"Hm?" she asked quickly, taking a second to process his question. "Oh, yes, I'm fine."

"Alright," Ron shrugged. "Looks like you've got trapped wind or something."

"…charming," Hermione finished, shaking her head as they left the Common Room. On the way down to breakfast, Harry told Hermione and Ron about his latest week of detentions, consisting of mostly the same punishment as before; sometimes with bonus lecturing from Umbridge, because quite clearly having his hand sliced open wasn't enough.

As they entered the Great Hall, Hermione glanced briefly up at the staff table, quickly noting that Umbridge was absent.

"Probably already getting her torture chamber ready," Ginny said as Hermione slid into the space beside her. The older girl gave a hollow laugh.

"Well you would know all about secret chambers," she replied, earning a shove from the redhead.

"Rude," Ginny grumbled, before properly turning to face her friend. "I assume by now you've already got your entire defence rehearsed and memorised?"

"Nothing so complicated," Hermione said, reaching for a slice of toast. "That would be a waste of good parchment."

"But you do have some sort of plan, right?" Ginny asked, her tone becoming somewhat more serious. "You know she's trying to get dirt on you."

"And I'm sure she'll find it, whether it exists or not," Hermione replied with a shrug. "What's the worst she could really do?"

"Expel you," Harry chimed in, putting his goblet of pumpkin juice down. That thought gave Hermione pause for a moment, but she quickly shook it off.

"Only Dumbledore can do that," she said, more for her own comfort than anything else. She was sure of it.

"Yeah, for now," Ron added. "But how long d'you really think it'll be before that old hag passes Education Decree Five Hundred or whatever we're up to and does it anyway? It's not like she's going anywhere – not being Fudge's pet project and everything."

Hermione sighed. "The worst part is, that's not completely farfetched," she said, gazing back down at her food. Suddenly her appetite was beginning to wane. Clearly her newfound confidence was, ironically, rather shy. She knew expulsion was beyond Umbridge's power, but if she did gain the capability to dismiss students, would she apply it retroactively for Hermione anyway? Somewhat rattled, she continued her breakfast in silence, increasingly fed up of her warring emotions on the subject. A short while later, she glanced at her watch, and promptly downed her pumpkin juice in one go.

"You heading off already?" Ginny asked, her questioned answered as the brunette got to her feet.

"Might as well get it over with," Hermione replied, pulling her bag over her shoulder and brushing a few crumbs from her jumper.

"Well good luck," Ginny said, sounding less than confident. Hermione wondered if her nerves were really showing that much, but cast the thought aside as she steeled herself with another deep breath.

"Thanks," she said quietly. Harry and Ron said their goodbyes, and Hermione swept out of the hall, heading up to the Third Floor. As she climbed the spiral staircase to Umbridge's classroom, her worries of expulsion and punishment began to fade again. Logic took control – Umbridge could not expel her; that much was a fact. She was an exemplary student in every other subject; something Hermione was hardly unaware of anymore. There was no way Umbridge could make her leave Hogwarts, not because of a few outbursts in class, and certainly not because of who she was going out with – not that the latter was going to be an issue after this.

**~xxx~**

The Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom was naturally deserted, looking much as it would to those who arrived early for a class – something Hermione was rather familiar with. But it felt significantly different; there was no chatter from the corridors or professor at the desk. All was still and quiet. The brunette made her way through the rows of empty seats, drawing level with the small staircase up to Umbridge's office. That awful woman was in there right now, ensconced in her perfect pink bubble and plotting Merlin knew what. Hermione shuddered involuntarily at the memory of her detentions there. The scars had healed, but every now and then her hand still prickled slightly; she could only hope what she was about to do would put all that behind her.

She took a final calming breath, straightened her tie, and made her way up the stone steps. She knocked three times on the thick oak door, before receiving an almost menacingly sweet call to come in.

It was always a jarring experience stepping into Professor Umbridge's office. It was much akin to exiting a warm house and finding yourself in a blizzard, only in this case, Hermione's eyes bore the brunt of the shock. After all this time, the sheer vibrancy and total coverage of the pink tones was overwhelming. Even the glass of the windows seemed to have been tinted fuchsia at this point, casting the crisp morning sky beyond in a rather bizarre colour. Were she not a cat person herself, Hermione was almost certain this room would have put her off them for life; the quiet mewling of the china plates set her teeth on edge, given her past experiences in there.

And of course, there was Professor Umbridge, sat at her desk and smiling pleasantly up at her 'guest'. As ever, her attire matched her office – cat broach and all – and in front of her, laid about her desk in neat, orderly rows, were several newspaper clippings; the subjects of which, Hermione could not make out.

"Good morning, Miss Granger," Umbridge said, voice still disturbingly kind. Hermione swallowed, before forcing herself to at least somewhat return the smile.

"Good morning, Professor," she replied, hoping she at least sounded agreeable.

"Sit," Umbridge instructed, gesturing to the lone chair opposite her desk. Hermione did as instructed, sliding her bag from her shoulder and leaning it neatly against the chair leg. She folded her hands in her lap, hoping that would make her look a little less confident. She knew Fleur would disapprove; though given her girlfriend's usual temper, she would probably advocate blasting Umbridge off the roof. Forcing that rather pleasant thought from her head, Hermione remembered her façade – and her manners.

"Thank you," she said quietly. The professor seemed to approve.

"Tea?" Umbridge offered. Hermione cast an eye over the cat-adorned teapot to her left. She dreaded to think how it might taste, given how 'sickly sweet' was generally the best way to describe everything about this room, but she had to create a good impression.

"Yes, thank you," Hermione replied, forcing another smile. As she watched her cup fill – she could have sworn the tea was tinged pink as well – it became harder and harder to maintain her polite expression. Despite the niceties, tension hung thick in the room. All previous interaction between the two of them had been hostile and belligerent – and yet of course, Umbridge acted as though everything was well. This was going to be trickier than Hermione had anticipated.

"Do you know why you're here today, Miss Granger?" Umbridge asked. She tilted her head to the side; not once did her pleasant expression so much as falter.

"I think so, Professor," Hermione replied. The older woman just moved her head to the other side and gave her a look to continue. "My behaviour has been appalling of late. I have spoken out of turn in class, I have been disrespectful to a member of staff, and I…" She swallowed uncomfortably. "…I have told lies."

Umbridge looked as though Christmas had come early, but quickly her expression shifted.

"You are partly correct, Miss Granger," she said. Hermione could definitely sense of barely restrained glee in her voice. "However, there are other, more distressing matters, that I wish to speak to you about."

"…alright," Hermione replied, not quite sure what else to say. She knew it had been too much to hope that throwing herself under the bus regarding her behaviour wouldn't save her from the prying personal questions. That was, after all, why they were there.

"You are currently in a relationship, are you not?" Umbridge asked, her tone becoming marginally less cheery. "With…" She trailed off, pulling one of the newspaper cuttings closer and peering down at it. "…a Miss Fleur Isabelle Delacour, correct?"

Just hearing Fleur's name spoken by this woman caused a spike in Hermione's anger. Unseen by the professor, she gripped the edge of the chair tightly, clenching her teeth as she did so. She was certain Umbridge couldn't see, but something in the squat woman's eyes told her she was well aware of the effect her words were having.

"That's right," Hermione said. She wasn't sure how long it had taken her to respond, but Umbridge didn't seem perturbed. Instead, she looked back to the newspaper clipping.

"Would I be correct in saying she was in the castle only a few days ago?" Umbridge asked, voice still rather calm. There it was – she really did know.

"I…yes, Professor," Hermione said. "She works for Gringotts. She was here on business and we…we spent a few hours together."

"That is rather troubling indeed," Professor Umbridge said in a clipped tone. "Did she have contact with anyone else besides yourself?"

"I…no, I don't think so," the younger witch replied, her nerves rising. Just what did Umbridge think Fleur would be doing with other people?

"A woman more than two years your senior, if this is to be believed," the professor continued, placing a finger upon the paper. Again, Hermione found herself fighting hard to maintain her composure. She was fully prepared for Umbridge to make this personal, but she hadn't anticipated just how loathsome it would feel to have this overgrown toad discussing Fleur.

"That's right," Hermione replied. "She turned eighteen this Summer."

"And you yourself are only sixteen," Umbridge went on, her brow furrowing in what could only be described as a look of sympathy. Indeed, her voice was becoming more and more that of an adult talking to an ignorant child. "And only very recently so."

"Yes," Hermione said, reasoning that perhaps if she kept her responses monosyllabic, it would be easier to mask her hatred of the woman before her.

Umbridge gave a look of resignation, shaking her head slightly and speaking quietly to herself. "Dear, dear…" she muttered. Hermione just took another deep breath and waited. "Quite honestly, I think it's high time you started acting your age, Miss Granger."

"Professor?" She had a good idea what the woman was getting at, but she had to hear it for herself; had to give Umbridge the satisfaction, if her plan had any hope of working.

"You are far too young to be getting yourself tangled up in such a…" She trailed off, blinking several times and taking a slow breath, as a storyteller would for a dramatic pause. "…sordid affair." She seemed rather satisfied with that moniker, pausing again as if for effect. "It is hardly proper for children to be getting involved with such things. I had hoped that one as allegedly intelligent as you would know better."

"May I ask a question?" Hermione said, unable to stop herself. Umbridge looked taken aback somewhat, clearly attempting to ascertain whether Hermione was trying to change the subject or not. After a moment, she conceded.

"You may."

"Is this just about Fleur's age, Professor?" Umbridge looked at her curiously for a moment, before blinking rapidly again and smiling that same sweet smile once more.

"You are aware, of course, of your…ah…friend's heritage, are you not?" the professor asked, pausing as she found the 'right' word. Hermione came closer than ever to exploding with rage, but managed to reign it in at the last moment.

She should have known Umbridge's views on this would be as traditional as those she had on education. Was she really incapable of even using words that acknowledged she and Fleur were together? Hermione was well aware that bigotry still existed in the wizarding world – blood purity relied on reproduction, after all – but this was the first time she had witnessed it face to face at Hogwarts. Worse even than that, it was the first time she had come close to any form of prejudice at all, whether it be from the magical community or otherwise. She had expected lewd and ignorant comments from students last year, but on the whole, they hadn't crossed over into outright bias. And to think, this was coming from a teacher.

"I am," Hermione stated finally, likely sounding a little more aggressive than intended. "Fleur is a quarter Veela. On her grandmother's side." Her anger was bubbling just under the surface now, and it occurred to her that in all likelihood, that's exactly what Umbridge was trying to bring out. All this pretence and put-on pleasantness was just an act, as always.

"Now then, I would not expect a mere fifth year student to be aware of the ramifications herein," Umbridge said. She gave that little head shake again, as though disapproving of something privately to herself. "As your professor, I feel it is my duty to make you aware that Veela are deadly, vicious creatures, Miss Granger. They are unreasonably violent and are classified as dangerous by the Ministry."

Hermione almost blurted out that that was a lie; she knew full well what the Ministry classified Veela as. But again, she held her tongue, and with great difficulty, swallowed her pride.

"Are they?" she asked, hoping her tone was one of shock and not sarcasm. Umbridge seemed nonplussed at Hermione's 'ignorance'.

"They are indeed," she said, nodding solemnly. Hermione felt rather like vomiting. "Veela are terrifying and murderous creatures, Miss Granger. They possess powers to both cause harm and to control one's mind with no more than a look and a smile. Of course it's no surprise that you were unaware; the Ministry prefers that knowledge of such vile creatures be kept well away from innocent young minds."

Hermione had to wonder whether Umbridge would dare say this in front of others, or if it was simply to get a reaction from her. It was always difficult to gauge the woman's motivations, so hidden as they were beneath those many layers of pretence. Again, she found herself unsure of exactly what to say, and quickly chose to continue playing dumb.

"You mean…" she trailed off, mustering every ounce of her Primary School acting skills. "…Fleur is…is some sort of _monster?"_

"I'm afraid so, dear," the professor said, her voice approaching something that could actually be mistaken for kindness. She even managed a passably sympathetic smile. "I'm so sorry you had to be subjected to this."

"It's alright, Professor…" Hermione said, trying her best to sound as not alright as possible. She sat back in her chair, pretending to digest this 'new' information. "It explains so much…"

"It does?" Umbridge asked, seeming to perk up slightly. So that was it – she really was after information. "Explains what, dear?"

"All the things she told me, Professor," Hermione said. She hated to admit it, but this was becoming somewhat amusing. "Last year she told me House Elves were being abused in the kitchens – she even made me set up a protest group against it. She told me that You-Know-Who was back."

"Did she now?" Umbridge asked, sounding more and more intrigued. Hermione nodded vigorously.

"Oh yes. We handed out badges and leaflets and everything," she said, before faking her best lost expression. "I…I thought I was doing something good…"

"Just what contact did you have with Miss Delacour after the end of term?"

"I stayed with her over the Summer," Hermione explained. "She said her education in France was far better than what we have here."

"Well, I can assure you that that was also a lie," Umbridge said sharply. Clearly she had taken offense at the implication. "Your Ministry-approved education is second to none, Miss Granger, make no mistake."

"It all seems so clear now," Hermione sighed. "She did it to Harry too." That got Umbridge's attention. The toad-like woman suddenly seemed to be bolt upright in her chair, far less squat than usual.

"Has this Veela been in contact with Mr Potter, also?" she asked, eyes just a bit wider than usual.

"Yes, he visited us over the Summer too," Hermione said. She was firmly into the realm of complete fabrication now, but she hardly expected Umbridge to check – Dumbledore would be the only one who could tell her for certain, after all. "Everything I was told, he was told."

"Well, that is very interesting indeed," Umbridge replied, nodding to herself again and narrowing her eyes. Hermione considered for a moment; was it right to bring Harry into this? Would there be any repercussions for him? She dismissed the questions immediately – she knew what she was doing. Sort of.

"Harry is very easily led," Hermione went on, hoping she sounded as forlorn as she intended. "He's still so upset about his parents. I think he just wants someone to blame."

"I see," Umbridge said, her voice quieter now. She reached for a nearby quill and made a few scrawls in an open notebook beside her. "Would you say Mr Potter is capable of blind trust, Miss Granger?"

"Oh definitely," Hermione replied, nodding again. "You don't think someone else has been telling him lies, do you?"

"That is a matter you should not concern yourself with, Miss Granger," Umbridge said, giving that eerily genuine smile again. "I am afraid Miss Delacour's father is an well-known troublemaker and critic of the British Ministry of Magic. I shudder to think what lies he has perpetuated throughout his family and inner circle."

"I feel like such an idiot," she said, her expression crestfallen. "I always thought I was smart…"

"I think you are smart, Miss Granger," Umbridge said, and to Hermione's shock, reached out and patted her hand gently. "But you are still a child, and there are those who would take advantage of your naivety. That is why it is so important for you and your peers to follow the Ministry's guidelines on the matter. If you hear anyone discussing something you know to be a lie, you should come straight to me."

"What about Professor McGonagall?" Hermione asked. She couldn't quite believe she was pulling this off, but pressed on regardless. "She always told us to go to her if we had questions."

"I think not," the pink-clad woman said, frowning to herself. "As your teachers are currently being evaluated by the Ministry, I feel it would be improper. Besides, what questions could children possibly have that cannot be answered in class?"

"Okay," Hermione said with another nod. "Straight to you. And it goes without saying that I'll break things off with Fleur as soon as possible. I don't want her manipulating me or my friends."

"Good girl," Umbridge said, beaming. Once again, the younger witch felt like being sick. "It makes me so sad to know there are those would manipulate innocent young minds to spread their lies. I'm glad we got this sorted out before it went any further."

"So am I, Professor," Hermione said. "I just want to learn. I never wanted to be a bad student."

"Well, hopefully that is all behind us now," Umbridge said, that smile unwavering. "Now then, I believe I have everything I need from you."

"You do?"

Umbridge just continued smiling. "Is there anything else you wish to discuss?"

"I don't think so," Hermione said, to which Umbridge nodded.

"Very well," she said. "I'm rather glad I was wrong about you, Miss Granger. With any luck, hopefully together we can help Mr Potter see the truth."

"I hope so, Professor," Hermione replied, getting to her feet and reaching for her bag. "I don't even want to spend another second thinking about the things we have been told. I just want to learn."

"Good," Umbridge said. "The I will see you in class this afternoon."

And with that, Hermione left. The moment the door to the professor's office closed, the brunette felt herself sag somewhat and let out a breath that felt as though it had been held ever since she sat down. She leant against the stone railing of the steps for a moment, letting out a quiet and shaky laugh. Had that really all just happened? She wondered whether Fleur would face any sort of repercussions from this, but quickly dismissed the thought – Umbridge didn't even know where Fleur was. Still, she was troubled by just how willingly Umbridge had accepted her words. Had she truly believed Hermione's story, or had she seen right through it and was herself putting on a façade? Of course, it was entirely possible that Umbridge was so wrapped up in her mind-set of them being easily led children, that to her, it likely all seemed perfectly plausible.

Exiting the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom as quickly as possible, she headed off to Care of Magical Creatures. It already felt as though it had been a long day.

**~xxx~**

"Easily led?" Harry asked, his voice a mix of amusement and offense. "You really told her that?"

"I had to think of something," Hermione insisted, raising her hands defensively. "I'm not exactly a trained actress, you know."

She, Harry and Ron were sat by the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room. Hermione had just finished retelling her 'friendly chat' with Umbridge, a task which had seemingly taken longer than the actual event. It was nearly midnight; the fire now little more than a few glowing embers and occasional quiet crackling. She had waited through lunch and their shared classes to tell them about it, despite Ron's persistent nagging. He seemed to have been expecting another 'Granger vs Umbridge' shouting match. Hermione herself was stood in front of the grate, while Harry and Ron were seated upon the nearest sofa. Her friends had listened eagerly to her tale, with Harry being completely unsurprised at Umbridge's acceptance of her fabricated story. He mentioned several occasions during his own detentions where the toad-like woman would refer to 'fragile young minds' and the like.

"Well for a start, how do you think Fleur's going to take the news you're dumping her?" Harry said, smirking up at her. Hermione just rolled her eyes.

"Really?" she asked, incredulous. "That's what you took away from this? Nothing at all about how I managed to convince Umbridge everything we've been saying is just the result of us being coerced by other people?"

"So, what, you want us to just pretend everything's fine now?" Ron asked. "Just keep our heads down?"

"That would probably be best," Hermione said, nodding. Harry didn't seem convinced.

"We can't just sit there and lap up whatever she puts in front of us," he said. "We're never going to learn anything in those classes."

"Exactly," Hermione replied. "But we've tried being direct with her, and it didn't work. You tried it, I tried it, and look what it got us." She held up the back of her hand to make her point. Harry subconsciously covered his own, despite his own scars also having nearly faded. "She's not here to teach, she's here to report back to the Ministry. We know that."

"You know she's going to blame this all on Dumbledore," Ron said. Harry and Hermione looked at him. "Well you said yourself, she thinks Fleur's the one who filled your head with 'lies' about You-Know-Who – who d'you think she's going to think's been telling Harry."

"He's got a point, Hermione," Harry said, looking back up at the brunette. "Now she's going to think Dumbledore's lying to us."

"She _already_ thinks that," Hermione pointed out incredulously. "All I did was take some of the blame off of us. At least now maybe we can suffer through her lessons in silence."

"Still doesn't change the fact we're not learning a single thing that can help us," Harry replied. "We know what's going on out there." He nodded towards the nearest window. "How are we supposed to be prepared if she's treating us like children."

Hermione didn't say anything. Instead, she just smiled and folded her arms, looking dead at Harry.

"What?" he asked, leaning back into the sofa and glancing at Ron. "What is it?"

"You've got a plan, haven't you?" Ron asked, watching as Hermione's smile widened.

"Oh Ronald, haven't you worked that out yet?" she asked, brown eyes twinkling. "I always have a plan."


End file.
